DORINDAS 


BIRTHDAY 


A  CORNISH  IDYLL 

BtoSXlQ  BY  <S^/^A#= 


CHARLES  LEE 


^^ 


75" 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


Dorinaa  puts  u/>  fic> 


DORINDA    PUTS   UP   HER    HAIR 


DORINDA'S 
BIRTHDAY 

A   CORNISH    IDYLL 


BY   CHARLES   LEE 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE 
WIDOW  WOMAN,"  "A 
FOREIGNER  IN  PEN- 
DENNACK,"  AND  OTHER 
STORIES 


NEW    YORK 
E.  P.  DUTTON    &    CO. 


ADVICE   TO  THE   READER 

If  you  will  needs  be  merry  with  your  wits, 
Take  heed  of  names  and  figuring  of  natures, 

And  tell  how  near  the  goose  the  gander  sits, 

Of  Hal  and  Li/,  and  of  such  silly  creatures  .   .   . 

But  scorn  them  not,  for  they  are  honest  people, 

Although  perhaps  they  never   saw  Paul's  steeple. 

Nick.  Breton. 


2229064 


DORINDA'S     BIRTHDAY 


I 

DORINDA  and  some  others  dwelt  at  Sunny 
Corner,  a  little  group  of  cottages  situated 
in  Nanheviock  Valley,  just  above  the 
sudden  twist  the  road  makes  when  it  has 
left  Porthmellan  behind  and  is  preparing 
to  rush  the  hill  which  leads  to  St.  Render 
Churchtown.  In  happy  Cornwall  well- 
nigh  every  parish  has  its  Sunny  Corner — 
favoured  spot  where  rough  winds  never 
venture  and  the  mid-day  sun  shines  in  at 
the  front  windows  ;  but  of  all  Sunny 
Corners  from  Land's  End  to  the  Devon 
borders,  Dorinda's  home  and  birthplace  is 
the  prettiest  and  choicest  to  my  mind. 
II le  terrarum  mihipraeter  omnes  angulus  ridet. 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Here,  you  would  say,  Nature  has  decreed 
that  life  should  go  to  a  gay  and  trivial 
tune — the  selfsame  tune  that  the  stream 
babbles  as  it  curves  a  protecting  arm 
about  the  spot.  Your  approach  from  the 
road  is  by  way  of  a  green  wicket-gate, 
through  a  small  orchard  of  old  apple- 
trees,  and  over  the  stream  by  a  plank 
bridge.  Then  you  have  before  you  a  row 
of  three  white-washed,  brown-thatched 
cottages.  Fuchsias  bloom  by  the  doors 
without  ;  geraniums  flatten  their  faces 
against  the  panes  within.  There  is  a 
wholesome  smell  of  wood-smoke  in  the 
air,  and  through  the  tangle  of  bird-songs 
— nowhere  do  throstle  and  robin  sing  so 
sweetly  and  persistently — you  hear  now 
and  again  that  most  comfortable  of  natural 
sounds,  the  grunting  of  a  well-fed  pig. 
In  one  window  you  will  observe  an  array 
of  small  groceries  and  haberdasheries — 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

tea,  biscuits,  tape,  and  the  like.  For  all 
ordinary  contingencies  Sunny  Corner  is 
complete  and  self-contained,  holding  up  its 
head  in  an  attitude  of  independence,  not 
untinged  with  scorn,  of  its  bigger  neigh- 
bours, the  fishing  village  below  and  the 
churchtown  above.  The  ladies  of  Sunny 
Corner  were  at  a  loss  to  imagine  how 
people  could  endure  to  live  in  such  rackety 
places,  and  they  could  moralize  you  excel- 
lently on  the  evils  of  town  life  with  its 
all-too-frequent  opportunities  for  gadding 
and  scandalmongering,  on  the  corrupting 
influence  of  bakehouses  and  the  ruin  of 
domestic  happiness  brought  about  by 
boughten  bread,  with  its  fell  train  of  con- 
sequences— indigestion,  ill-temper,  hen- 
pecking,  wife-beating,  the  workhouse  and 
the  jail. 

The  human  population  of  Sunny  Corner 
numbered  nine  all   told,  and  it  was    sym- 

B2  3 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

metrically  distributed  among  the  three 
houses,  each  of  which  contained  two 
seniors  and  a  junior.  At  the  end  house  to 
the  left  dwelt  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barron  with 
their  son  Hubert,  a  steady  young  man  of 
five-and-twenty  :  at  the  end  house  to  the 
right,  Lazarus  Roscorla,  his  maiden  sister 
Philippa,  and  their  orphaned  nephew 
Charles  Edward,  a  hulking  lad  of  fif- 
teen ;  while  the  middle  house  contained 
the  Varco  family — father,  mother,  and 
Dorinda. 

The  task — no  easy  one — of  describing 
my  heroine,  I  can  best  approach  obliquely, 
by  way  of  the  stream  which  flows  down 
the  valley  past  her  window.  It  is  a 
fanciful,  capricious  little  river,  never  of 
the  same  mind  for  two  moments  together. 
Now  it  loiters  to  nibble  teasingly  at  its 
patient  banks,  now  it  hurries  round  a 
corner  to  see  what  wonders  may  be  beyond  ; 

4 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

here  it  spins    in   a  round,  there  it  slides 
gurgling  over  a  rocky  shelf.     It  tips  head- 
long into  tiny  disasters  ;  it  chatters  to  the 
ferns  and  meadowsweet  in    a  dozen  con- 
tradictory voices  at  once  ;  it  darts  this  way 
and    that,    like    one    of   its   own    startled 
trout  ;  it  dances  up  to  the  road,  crooking 
a  friendly  elbow,  and  before  the  challenge 
can  be  accepted  it  is  out  of  sight,  hiding 
coquettishly  among  the  willows.     Or  for 
a  dozen  yards  it  will  play  the  great  sober 
river,  and  sweep  along  without  a    ripple, 
bearing   mighty    twigs   and    straws  away 
with  resistless  force.     Then  it  approaches 
a  two-foot  weir  ;  you  see  the  nymph  with 
finger  on  lip,  and  eyes  that  twinkle  with 
suppressed  fun,  and  stealthy  silent  feet  ; 
the  tremendous  leap  is  made,  and  for  yards 
below   the    bubble    and    flash    of   riotous 
merriment  continues.     Birds  linger   by  it, 
sing  their  loudest  to  it,  swing  their  nests 

5 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

over  it.  Flowers  crowd  to  its  brink  ;  in 
spring,  when  the  daffodils  are  out,  it  rolls 
a  flood  of  innocent  gold.  Little  springs, 
sudden  fancies  of  the  earth,  gush  from 
the  rocky  hill-side  and  trickle  across  the 
road  to  join  it.  It  tastes  pleasantly  of 
moorland  peat  and  water-mint. 

Imagine  its  tutelary  Naiad,  and  you  have 
Dorinda.  Do  you  wish  me  to  be  more 
definite  ?  Dorinda  at  seventeen  was  a 
straight,  shapely,  nut-brown  maid,  whose 
features  were  ever  at  play  with  one  another 
and  mostly  at  charming  variance.  Now 
the  lips  were  shy,  and  the  eyes  shot 
laughter  under  demure  brows  ;  now  the 
timid  eyes  veiled  themselves  beneath  your 
scrutiny,  while  the  dispossessed  laughter 
flitted  to  the  lips,  and  the  brows  went 
up  in  scornful  contradiction  to  inacces- 
sible heights. 

When  Dorinda  spoke,  you  heard  a  gay 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

thrush.  When  she  laughed,  it  was  the 
willow-wren,  whose  joyous  song  trips  up 
the  scale  and  down  again  in  an  effortless 
sweet  warble  and  vanishes  imperceptibly 
on  the  air.  When  she  stood,  she  was  like 
a  young  poplar,  liveliest  and  most  upright 
of  rooted  things.  When  she  walked,  you 
looked  every  moment  to  see  her  break 
into  dancing.  When  she  ran,  you  were 
reminded  of  those  little  shore-birds  that 
hurry  over  the  sands  with  twinkling  feet. 
For  her  character,  let  one  fact  speak,  on 
the  eve  of  her  seventeenth  birthday  the 
first  putting-up  of  her  hair  was  still  an 
event  in  the  future.  You  may  see  nothing 
in  this,  but  I  assure  you  that  it  stamps  her 
at  once  as  somebody  quite  out  of  the 
common.  At  Porthmellan  and  St.  Render 
and  all  about,  the  maidens  can  scarcely 
await  the  final  shelving  of  their  school- 
books  before  taking  the  step  that  launches 

7 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

them  irrevocably  into  womanhood.  Even 
before  that  date,  more  than  one  packet 
of  experimental  hairpins  will  have  been 
bought,  and  every  known  style  of  coiffure 
tried,  abandoned,  and  reverted  to  again  and 
again  before  the  looking-glass.  The  next 
Sunday  after  the  last  breaking-up  day  is 
the  latest  date  to  which  the  impatient 
maiden  will  consent  to  defer  her  public 
appearance  in  waved  or  braided  top-knot. 
But  Dorinda's  schooldays  receded  into 
the  dim  past,  her  skirts  crept  down  and 
down  to  her  ankles,  and  still  the  brown 
curls  tossed  unrestrained  on  her  shoulders 
from  Monday  to  Friday.  Still  on  Satur- 
day they  underwent  a  day-long  discipline  of 
rags  in  front  and  tight  little  plaits  behind, 
and  still  on  Sunday  she  continued  to  look 
almost  as  pretty  as  ever  in  the  midst  of  a 
frizzy  halo  that  would  have  passed  muster 
in  New  Guinea  itself.  Mocking  com- 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

parisons  to  an  owl  looking  out  of  an  ivy- 
bush  left  her  unmoved  ;  and  she  never 
blenched  at  the  sight  of  her  juniors  by  a 
year  walking  out  with  wage-earners,  while 
she  had  to  content  herself  with  an  unprofit- 
able dalliance  with  boys. 

But  custom  cannot  be  violated  with 
impunity.  Dam  up  the  most  harmless  of 
streams,  and  at  once  it  becomes  a  potential 
danger  to  the  community,  and  the  date  of 
the  breaking  of  the  dam  is  fixed  for  ever 
in  the  memory  of  mankind.  So  with  the 
putting  up  of  Dorinda's  hair. 

The  day  on  which  the  rite  was  per- 
formed is  calendared  with  three  events  : 
for  Sunny  Corner  it  was  Dorinda's 
seventeenth  birthday  ;  for  the  world  at 
large  it  was  Midsummer  Day  ;  for  the 
folk  of  Nanheviock  Valley  and  thereabouts 
it  was  St.  Hender  Feast  Day,  with  sports 
and  games  in  the  glebe-meadow  and  a 

9 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

bell-ringing  contest  in  the  church  tower. 
In  this  last  event  Sunny  Corner  had  a 
special  interest  ;  for  Nick  Barren  was 
organizer  and  fugleman  of  the  home 
team,  and  Hubert  its  latest  recruit, 
chosen  only  the  previous  week  out  of 
the  junior  team  to  fill  the  gap  left  by  the 
retirement  of  a  veteran,  whose  strength 
after  sixty  years  was  beginning  at  last  to 
lag  behind  his  skill  and  enthusiasm. 

On  Midsummer  Day,  then,  our  tale 
begins  ;  the  time,  an  hour  or  so  after 
dinner  ;  the  place,  Mrs.  Varco's  kitchen, 
with  the  folk  of  Sunny  Corner  assembled 
there  in  their  best  clothes.  The  Barrens, 
to  be  sure,  are  absent.  Father  and  son 
have  already  departed  for  the  field  of 
tourney,  and  Mrs.  Barren,  an  invalid 
of  the  most  determined  kind,  remains  in 
the  upper  chamber  which  she  seldom 
quits.  Dorinda,  too,  is  still  mysteriously 

10 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

occupied    up-stairs  ;    but    the    others   are 
all  present. 

The  host  is  a  little  wiry  man  with  the 
bright  eyes  and  the  alert  demeanour  of 
a  cock-robin.  Comparative  strangers 
identify  him  by  his  flaming  beard,  which 
is  no  mere  weak,  drooping  excrescence, 
as  too  many  big  beards  are  apt  to  be, 
but  a  great  bristly  bush  that  juts  out, 
by  far  the  most  prominent  feature  in  his 
physiognomy,  like  a  thorn-clump  on  the 
face  of  a  precipice.  When  he  is  smoking 
his  favourite  briar  with  the  bent  stem, 
the  bowl  of  it  nestles  in  the  ruddy  tangle 
like  a  pipkin  in  a  brushwood  fire,  and 
every  now  and  again  a  too  vigorous  puff 
diffuses  a  perceptible  odour  of  singed  hair 
about  him.  He  is  pacing  the  floor  up 
and  down,  fisherman-fashion,  five  steps 
each  way.  Not  that  Dickon  Varco  is  a 
fisherman,  but  the  ceaseless  ambling  to 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

and  fro  of  the  man  of  nets  and  crab-pots 
is  congenial  to  his  restless  spirit,  and  he 
adopts  it  as  to  the  manner  born.  Plaster- 
ing is  his  trade,  and,  in  his  own  mock 
modest  phrase,  he  can  whitewash  a  barn 
door  so  well  as  any  mason  ;  though  his 
true  vocation,  as  is  so  often  the  case, 
lies  in  a  bypath,  and  the  real  business 
and  passion  of  his  life  is  the  cure  and 
care  of  clocks.  Should  a  staid  veteran 
timepiece  suddenly  abandon  it  century- 
long  habits  of  sobriety,  and  race  ahead 
into  to-morrow  before  to-day  is  over,  or 
should  it  despondently  throw  up  the 
sponge  and  refuse  to  go  on  counting  the 
interminable  hours  any  longer,  a  message 
to  Dickon  will  always  cause  him  to  cast 
down  pail  and  brush  and  hurry  post-haste 
to  bring  it  to  its  senses.  No  sale  of 
furniture  is  held  within  a  circuit  of 
twelve  miles,  but  Dickon  is  in  attendance  ; 

12 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


and  when  the  household  clock  comes 
under  the  hammer,  the  chances  are  that  it 
passes  into  his  possession  after  a  character- 
istically breathless  bidding-bout.  Then, 
if  it  be  of  the  race  of  Grandfathers,  he 
balances  himself  with  a  weight  in  either 
pocket,  wedges  his  back  inside  the  case, 
and  trots  home,  like  a  gigantic  tortoise 
on  its  hind  legs.  The  shock  of  meeting 
him  thus  caparisoned  in  dark  lanes  after 
nightfall  has  scattered  many  pairs  of 
sauntering  lovers  in  hasty  flight. 

Dickon  is  a  seller  as  well  as  a  buyer, 
and  clocks  come  and  go.  Sometimes 
there  will  be  only  one  in  the  house, 
sometimes  half  a  dozen.  At  present  he 
possesses  four  :  two  in  the  kitchen, 
grandsires  both,  the  one  a  "  flowery-face," 
the  other  of  brazen  visage  ;  one  in  the 
parlour,  a  brisk,  light-hearted  cuckoo, 
that  counts  no  dark  days  and  has  no 

»3 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

winter  in  its  year,  but  even  in  the  smallest 
hours  of  the  darkest  January  night  de- 
clares unhesitatingly  for  a  May  morning 
and  bright  sunshine ;  and  one  on  the 
landing  upstairs.  This  last  is  no  sober 
Briton,  but  a  foreigner  whose  incurably 
dissolute  habits  cause  Dickon  much  anx- 
iety. From  the  Black  Forest  it  comes, 
and  holds  heterodox — presumably  papis- 
tical— views  on  the  subject  of  time.  It 
is  for  ever  chiming  wrong  hours  in  a 
shrill  insistent  treble,  and,  when  permitted, 
plays  frivolous  waltzes  prestissimo  on  a 
concealed  barrel-organ. 

At  one  end  of  the  aged  horsehair  sofa 
under  the  window  sits  Dickon's  wife 
Thomasine,  a  large,  round,  kindly  dame 
without  a  prickle  or  angle  in  her  structure. 
Destiny  manifestly  framed  her  in  a  com- 
fortable mould  for  a  leisurely  progress 
through  life,  and  then,  after  Destiny's 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

seemingly  perverse  fashion,  linked  her  to 
an  embodiment  of  bustle.  But  in  this 
case  at  any  rate  Destiny  knew  what  it 
was  about,  and  never  made  a  more 
suitable  match.  Conceive  the  average 
housewife  of  normal  irritability  in  Mrs. 
Varco's  shoes,  cursed  with  the  dismal 
certainty  of  always  knowing  the  time, 
of  having  to  stare  her  in  the  face 
wherever  she  looked,  of  never  being  able 
to  forget  it  and  float  into  an  eternity  of 
oblivious  musing.  Think  of  it — all  those 
tall  grim  onlookers  inexorably  measuring 
every  trivial  little  business,  every  mo- 
mentary lapse  into  idleness  !  The  slow 
ticking  of  a  single  timepiece  grows  to 
be  part  of  the  silence  of  a  well-ordered 
house  ;  you  heed  it  no  more  than  you 
do  the  beating  of  your  own  heart.  But 
several  together  ! — oh,  the  tread  of  multi- 
tudinous feet,  hurrying  you  with  them 

15 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

in  their  mad  rush  down  the  steep  slope 
of  years  !  Time  is  hastening  so  fast  that 
his  minions  cannot  keep  step.  One  clock 
can  be  managed  and  cajoled  ;  you  can  put 
it  back  when  dinner  is  behind-hand  and 
a  hungry  husband  is  at  the  gate  ;  you  can 
put  it  forward  when  you  thirst  for  a 
comforting  cup  and  tea-time  lags.  But 
the  most  hardened  domestic  conscience 
would  hesitate  to  tamper  with  four  or 
five  witnesses  at  once.  I  have  no  statistics 
at  hand  to  show  how  many  watchmakers' 
wives  end  their  days  in  lunatic  asylums, 
but  surely  the  percentage  must  be  a  large 
one.  Fortunately  Mrs.  Varco  is  blessed 
with  a  temperament  that  nothing  can 
ruffle  or  hurry.  Time  writes  no  wrinkles 
on  her  placid  brow,  and  she  is  far  too 
stout  to  run  races  with  him.  About 
her,  stationary  for  the  most  part  in  her 

kitchen,  the  little  world  of  Sunny  Corner 

16 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

revolves  ;  from  her  ample  store  of  good- 
will the  soothing  oil  flows  forth  at  the 
faintest  squeak  in  the  social  machinery. 

At  the  other  end — the  bolstered  end — 
of  the  sofa  sits  Miss  Roscorla.  Politeness 
— not  to  be  forgone  even  among  inti- 
mates— has  offered  her  the  seat  which  is 
fondly  supposed  to  be  the  most  comfort- 
able in  the  room,  and  politeness  has  com- 
pelled her  acceptance  of  it,  though  she 
had  far  rather  be  elsewhere  ;  partly  be- 
cause, being  thin  and  angular,  she  has  an 
ancient  feud  with  the  bolster,  which  is 
indeed  a  most  uncompromising  bolster, 
and  partly  because,  whenever  her  hostess 
is  seized  with  a  paroxysm  of  laughter 
(which  happens  to  that  worthy  soul  at 
least  once  a  minute),  the  vibrations  com- 
municate themselves  to  the  sofa's  few 
remaining  springs,  and  boggle  her  up,  as 

she  complains  to  herself,  like  a  farm  cart 

c  17 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

going  over  a  turnip  field.  Miss  Roscorla's 
own  interior  mechanism  would  appear  to 
be  constructed  entirely  of  springs  and 
wires.  As  she  sits  bolt  upright  with 
folded  arms,  her  stillness  is  the  unnatural 
stillness  of  a  clockwork  toy,  wound  up  but 
not  yet  set  a-going  ;  a  touch  somewhere, 
and  the  thin  tight  lips  will  snap  apart,  the 
hands  will  be  suddenly  released  from  their 
fast  clutch  of  the  elbows,  and  there  is  no 
way  known  to  mortals  of  arresting  the 
motion  of  either  until  the  works  run  down 
of  their  own  accord.  On  her  head  she 
wears  a  grey  sailor  hat,  severely  unadorned 
save  for  one  ancient  feather,  stripped  of 
most  of  its  plumes,  set  at  an  angle  nearly 
approaching  the  vertical,  and  resembling 
nothing  so  much  as  a  quill  pen  in  an  old- 
fashioned  leaden  inkstand. 

Mr.  Roscorla    is  jammed    against    the 

wall  with  a  guardian  timepiece  at  either 

18 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

elbow,  like  a  prisoner  between  two  senti- 
nel policemen.  His  blank  brown  face, 
encircled  with  a  fringe  of  grizzled  hair, 
may  be  likened,  for  colour  and  expressive- 
ness of  .feature,  to  a  ploughed  field  within 
a  fence  of  flowering  blackthorn.  His  soft 
black  hat  is  on  his  head,  and  in  his  hand 
he  carries  a  stout  and  curiously  knotted 
stick,  with  which  he  collogues  from  time 
to  time  as  with  a  familiar  spirit,  applying 
its  knob  now  to  his  lips,  now  to  one  of 
his  ears,  now  to  the  orbit  of  either  eye. 

Lastly,  Charles  Edward  lolls  and  fidgets 
by  himself  in  a  remote  corner.  Every  few 
moments  he  glances  anxiously  at  one  of 
the  clocks,  and  then  at  the  door.  His 
bosom  is  a  skirmishing  ground  of  con- 
tending passions.  Pleasure  bids  him  break 
loose  from  his  dawdling  elders  and  hasten 
to  join  the  revelling  crowd ;  Love  whispers 

him  to  endure  their  tedious  talk  a  little 

c  2  19 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

longer,  that  he  may  be  rewarded  with 
Dorinda's  company  going  up  the  hill. 
Why  lingers  she,  and  what  will  she  think 
when  she  sees  him  in  a  stand-up  collar  ? 

We  are  to  strike  into  the  conversation 
immediately  on  the  heels  of  old  Time, 
who  with  much  senile  wheezing  and 
clucking  has  just  proclaimed  the  hour  of 
Three  in  two  loud  voices  of  equal  em- 
phasis but  varying  pitch.  Blithe  cor- 
roboration  came  immediately  in  muffled 
tones  from  spring's  harbinger  in  the  next 
room.  A  pause,  and  then  a  thin  hurried 
voice  from  up-stairs  gave  the  others  the 
lie  direct,  querulously  declaring  that  Five 
was  the  true  reckoning. 

"  The  foreigner's  off  ahead  agin," 
remarked  Mr.  Varco.  "  And  marking 
twenty  past  one  this  very  minute,  I'll  be 
bound.  Like  a  maid,  saying  one  thing, 
looking  another,  and  maning  something 


20 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

quite  deffrant  all  the  while.  And  spaking 
of  maids — Dorinda-a  !  Three  o'clo-ock  !  " 

"  Coming,  father  !  "  trilled  a  skylark 
from  on  high — if  you  can  imagine  a  sky- 
lark with  its  beak  full  of  hairpins. 

"  Come,  then.  What's  up  with  the 
maid  ?  She  don't  use  to  be  so  long  over 
her  trumpery." 

Mr.  Roscorla  got  on  the  track  of  an 
idea.  Warily  hunting  it  down,  he  shifted 
the  knob  of  his  stick  from  his  mouth, 
brought  it  delicately  round  by  the  bridge 
of  his  nose  and  over  the  arch  of  his  right 
eyebrow,  and  there  ran  his  quarry  to 
earth. 

"  Husband-high,  neighbour,"  he  said,  in 
a  voice  that  creaked  as  if  rusty  from 
disuse.  "  And  when  a  maiden's  husband- 
high,  d'ye  see " 

"  Tshutt  !  "  Mr.  Varco  caught  the 
application  on  the  wing,  and  tossed  it 

21 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

contemptuously  aside.  "Tshutt  !  Our  li'll 
maid  husband-high  !  Nonsense  !  She've 
no  age  in  her  at  all !  " 

"She'll  be  well  on  for  seventeen,  though, 
I  should  say,"  remarked  Miss  Roscorla. 

"  Seventeen's  her  age  this  very  day," 
said  Mrs.  Varco.  "  Dickon  have  a  quip 
about  that.  What's  your  quip,  master, 
about  Dorinda's  birthday  being  Midsum- 
mer Day  ? " 

"  High  tide  o'  the  year  ;  that's  the 
time  to  launch  your  craft  'pon  the  waters 
of  life.  I  made  that  quip  the  very  hour 
the  cheeld  was  born.  A  nate  li'll  quip, 
sure  'nough,"  said  the  author  impersonally. 

"  'Tis  so,  sure,"  agreed  Miss  Roscorla 
graciously.  "  D'st  hear  that,  Lazarus  ? 
Midsummer  Day — that's  high  tide,  like  ; 
and  high  tide's  the  time  to  launch  your 
craft — see  ?  Kind  of  a  parable,  Lazarus, 

like  the  maid  was  a  skiffle-boat." 

22 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Mr.  Roscorla  transferred  the  knob  to 
the  other  eyebrow,  found  no  enlighten- 
ment there,  tapped  his  forehead  with  no 
better  success,  propped  his  hat  up  an  inch 
or  two,  as  if  to  give  his  brain  more  room, 
failed  again,  and  returned  with  evident 
relief  to  his  original  branch  of  the  subject. 

"  Husband-high,  I  was  saying.  Seven- 
teen's  husband-high,  'a  b'lieve." 

"  Courtship-high,  anyway,"  said  Miss 
Varco,  with  a  sigh  and  a  laugh. 

"  Same  thing  nowadays,"  said  Miss 
Roscorla.  "  The  ondacent  hurry  of  these 
maids " 

"  'Nother  quip!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Varco. 
"  'Tis  like  the  rat.  '  Master/  says  the 
clown,  '  do  'e  know  'bout  the  rat  ? '  '  No, 
sir,  I  do  not  know  'bout  the  rat/  says  the 
man  with  the  whip.  '  Master/  says  the 
clown,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
a-waggling  of  his  trowses,  c  master/  says 
23 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

he  c  the  rat  that  got  the  longest  tail  do 
take  the  longest  time  to  get  inside  the 
trap.'  And  then  smack  go  the  whip  and 
round  go  the  specketty  horse  with  the 
young  lady  'pon  top.  And  so  for  these 
maids.  Seventeen,  very  well  ;  twenty,  not 
so  bad  ;  but  after  that  the  tail  of  years 
do  lengthen  like  a  clothes-line,  and  the 
longer  'tis,  the  harder  'tis  to  get  inside 
church  door  with  a  man  on  your  arm. 
But  our  maid  don't  seem  in  no  ondacent 
hurry.  Dorinda-a  ! " 

"  In  a  minute,  daddy  !  " 

"  In  a  minute  !  We  d'  all  know  the 
maning  of  that  in  the  mouth  of  a  she. 
Fine  pretty  job  'a  'd  be  if  the  women  had 
the  making  of  the  clocks.  We'd  be  landed 
in  Etarnity  by  next  week,  I  reckon. 
Well,  friends,  be  us  to  wait  for  the  maid, 
or  ben't  us  ?  The  band  '11  have  pitched 

playing  this  hour  and  more,  and  the  ring- 

24 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

ing  '11  all  be  over  before  we  get  up-along 
if  we  don't  hurry." 

"  Aw,  gie  the  maid  time,"  said  Miss 
Roscorla.  "  I  ben't  in  no  vi'lence  for  the 
hooting  and  tooting  of  the  one,  nor  yet 
for  the  clashing  and  dashing  of  the  other. 
I  don't  hold  with  this  ringing  like  'tis 
nowadays,  in  and  out,  forth  and  back,  till 
your  brain's  all  of  a  maze  trying  to 
follow.  Down  the  gamut  stiddy  for  half- 
an-hour  'pon  end — that's  how  'a  used  to 
be  in  my  young  days,  and  none  of  this 
low  deceitful  dodgery.  And  such  carnal 
music  as  these  bands  do  play — dances  and 
ballats  and  marble  halls — 'tidn'  fit  for  a 
saved  person  to  listen  to.  Well,  what  is 
'a,  Lazarus  ?  Spake  up,  before  your  hat 
do  fall  off." 

Her  sisterly  eye  had  detected  symptoms 
of  a  renewed  ferment  in  Mr.  Roscorla's 
brain.  His  stick,  ploughing  its  cautious 

25 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

way  through  his  scanty  locks,  was  pushing 
his  hat  back  and  back  into  the  position  of 
an  angelic  halo.  Now,  slowly  retracing  its 
path,  it  came  to  rest  between  nose  and 
upper  lip,  where  its  magic  touch  unsealed 
the  fountain  of  speech. 

"  Spaking  of  these  circuses,  neighbour. 
I  went  to  a  circus  myself  once.  When  I 
was  a  frolicsome  young  spark,  'twas.  See 
a  helephant  having  his  dinner.  Ringed  a 
bell,  'a  did.  Man  brought  en  a  cabbage. 
Elephant  clunked  en  down  like  a  brussel- 
sprout.  Ringed  the  bell  again.  'Nother 
cabbage.  Clunked  that  down.  Bell  agin. 
If  you'll  believe  me,  Another  cabbage. 
Satisfied  ?  Not  he  !  Bell  once  more. 
'Nother  cab " 

"  That'll  do,  Lazarus,"  said  his  sister 
sharply  ;  and  Mr.  Roscorla,  who  had 
become  positively  animated  under  the 

influence    of   his    exciting   narrative,   was 

26 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

suddenly  and  completely  checked,  remain- 
ing with  mouth  wide  open  and  stick 
feebly  groping  in  mid-air,  while  Miss 
Roscorla  proceeded  to  excuse  and  explain 
her  summary  action. 

"  There's  nine  cabbages  come  into  that 
yarn,  Mis'  Varco,  and  if  I  don't  stop  him 
he  give  the  whole  pedigree  of  'em  from 
first  to  last,  till  I'm  ready  to  jump  out  of 
my  skin.  'Tis  the  only  yarn  he've  got, 
you  see,  and  he  don't  often  get  a  chance 
to  tell  en,  only  at  a  particular  time,  once 
in  three  year  or  so  ;  so  you  can't  blame 
the  poor  soul  for  making  the  most  of  en, 
can  'e  ?  Shut  your  mouth,  Lazarus,  before 
the  draught  do  get  to  that  holler  tooth  o' 
yourn." 

"  Capital  yarn  too/'  said  Dickon,  ex- 
tending the  professional's  kindly  patronage 
to  the  bungling  amateur.  "  But  malin- 

choly.     To    think    of    all    that    appetite 

27 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

wasted  'pon  raw  vege'bles !    Looksee  now, 
friends,  we'll  gie  the  maid   two   minutes 

more,  and  if  she  don't  come  by  then " 

"  Here  she  is  at  last,  I  do  believe  !  " 
A  light  winnowing  sound  was  heard,  as 
of  the  wings  of  wrens  and  titmice  ;  the 
door    was    wafted    abroad,    and    Dorinda 
stood  before   her   friends  and  relatives. 


28 


II 

BY  all  the  rules  that  govern  a  heroine's 
first  appearance,  she  should  have  been 
wearing  a  dress  of  some  soft  clinging 
material,  half  hiding  and  half  revealing 
the  gracious  curves  of  her  figure,  and 
foamed  over  by  vaporous  billows  of  filmy 
chiffon.  But  if  the  truth  must  out, 
Dorinda's  white  muslin  dress  was  as  stiff 
as  starch  could  make  it,  and  there  was 
nothing  vague  or  ambiguous  about  the 
primly  ordered  rows  of  pink  trimming 
that  adorned  it.  Here  was  no  confused 
flow  of  ribands,  no  sweet  disorder  of 
erring  lace  or  tempestuous  petticoat,  but 
from  the  white  hat  to  the  white  shoes 
and  stockings,  all  was  taut  and  trim. 

The    excitement    of     the     moment    had 

29 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

slightly  disturbed  her  breathing  ;  and 
with  each  soft  pant  a  mysterious  inward 
cheeping  was  audible,  as  though,  like 
Lesbia,  she  cherished  a  happy  sparrow 
in  her  bosom.  Her  slim  throat  was 
chained  and  clamped  with  several  bead 
necklaces,  and  more  than  one  brooch 
of  genuine  rolled  gold  ;  and  I  am  very 
much  afraid  that  the  slight  ridge  or 
swelling  which  was  defined  on  one  of 
her  fingers  under  the  white  glove  was 
attributable  to  a  sixpenny  diamond  ring. 
Yet  how  bravely  she  carried  her  bravery  ! 
how  alive,  how  irrepressibly  flexible  she 
contrived  to  appear  under  it  all  !  like — if 
I  may  drag  a  simile  from  afar — like  a 
folk-song,  which  some  eminently  respect- 
able musician  has  tricked  out  and  bur- 
dened down  with  conventional  harmonies 
and  rococo  cadences. 

Little   conscious    smiles    played  about 
30 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


her  face.  For  a  moment  silence  reigned  ; 
then  Mr.  Varco  began. 

"  Young  woman,  where's  my  little 
daughter  Dorinda  ?  And  who  be  you, 
with  your  fine  fligs  so  gay  ? " 

"  Father  !  "  she  twittered,  struggling  to 
compose  her  triumphant  laughter. 

Mr.  Varco  went  through  a  condensed 
drama  of  recognition,  peering,  frowning, 
starting. 

"  No  !  Yes  !  No,  but  'a  can't  be  !  Yes, 
but  'a  must  be  !  Missus,  this  young  lady's 
our  Dorinda.  My  life  !  "  He  sank  ex- 
hausted in  a  chair.  "Bit  all-overish  ;  better 
direckly.  Like  one  of  these  story-books : 
long-lost  cheeld  come  back  to  her  sorrowing 
parents,  that  grand  and  growed  up,  they 
don't  know  her.  And  the  young  dook 
hiding  in  the  back-kitchen  this  very 
minute,  waiting  for  to  claim  his  bride  ! 
Well,  well  !  Fotch  out  the  young  dook, 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

and  down  'pon  your  hands  and  knees  the 
two  of  'e,  till  I  give  'e  my  blessing. 
Fotch  en  out,  I  say  !  " 

She  shook  her  head  and  sighed. 

"  How  !  Don't  tell  me  you've  been  and 
took  up  with  that  there  barrinet  with  the 
black  mushtash  !  Don't  'e,  my  cheeld. 
HeVe  a  wife  up  to  the  asylum  already, 
beside  the  one  he  sticked  with  the  carving- 
knife  last  week  because  the  mutton  was 
underdone,  and  her  life-blood  did  flow 
like  gravy  'pon  the  clane  table-cloth. 
Aw,  don't  tell  me  'tis  the  barrinet ! " 

"  Do  give  over  with  your  nonsense, 
Dickon  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Varco,  her  fat 
sides  shaking. 

Mr.  Varco  held  up  his  hand. 

"  Wait  a  bit.  I  have  en.  'Tis  the 
young  squire.  Bit  of  a  come-down  after 
the  dock,  but  you  might  ha'  done  worse. 
A  galliant  blade,  the  young  squire  ;  and 

32 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

what's  all  the  pomps  of  the  earth,  put  'em 
agin  a  happy  home  ?  The  dook's  mother's 
a'  old  cat,  if  you  ask  me.  She  and  the 
missus  'ud  never  get  along  together,  I 


seem." 


"  Dickon  !  "  protested  the  rolling,  gasp- 
ing missus.  "  'Tidn'  fitty  to  put  such 
notions  in  the  cheeld's  head." 

"  Ay,  but  they'm  there  already,  trust 
her  else.  Come,  you  maid,  who's  the 
chap  ?  " 

Again  she  heaved  a  mock  sigh. 

"  Aw,  don't  tell  me  there  an't  no  young 
feller  somewheres  around  !  " 

"  'Tis  the  terrible  truth,"  murmured 
she.  "  And  I'm  awful  kind  to  them 
too." 

"  Poor  li'll  maid  !    Well,  must  see  what 

we  can  do  for  'e."     He  revolved  a  deeply 

speculative   eye,  and   fastened   it  on   Mr. 

Roscorla.      "  Ah,    here's    the    very    one  ! 

D  33 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

Staid  bachelor  man  with  a  bit  of  property. 
Not  so  young  as  'a  was,  but  sound  in 
wind  and  limb,  not  a  bounce  of  vice  into 
'm,  straight  as  a  willow,  gentle  as  a  dove. 
Cast  your  eye  upon  'm." 

With  inconceivable  slowness  Mr.  Ros- 
corla's  features  stiffened  into  alarmed 
bewilderment,  relaxed  into  an  uneasy 
smile,  and  finally  twisted  themselves  into 
an  awesome  grimace,  which,  with  a 
little  good-will,  might  pass  current  for 
an  amorous  smirk. 

"  There  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Varco.  "  See 
how  loving  'a  do  look  upon  'e  !  Haven' 
'e  something  to  say  to  'm,  now  ?  " 

"  'Tis  for  the  man  to  speak  and  the 
maid  to  listen,"  said  Dorinda. 

"  Hear  that  !  She  d'  know  the  rules 
already,  and  her  hair  not  put  up  ten 
minutes.  Who've  ben  laming  her  the 
rules,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  Well,  come, 

34 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

uncle,  the  maid's  a-waiting.  Don't  mind 
we.  Pitch  and  begin  your  courting." 

Miss  Roscorla  began  to  stir  and  snort, 
while  her  brother  consulted  his  oracular 
staff.  His  blank  visage  brightened  by 
infinite  gradations,  as  brightens  the  eastern 
sky  at  dawn,  and  he  spoke. 

"  Fine  growing  weather  for  the  craps," 
said  he. 

"  Not  so  bad  to  begin  with,"  remarked 
Mr.  Varco.  "  Can't  do  better  'n  start 
with  the  weather.  'Tis  like  the  first 
move  'pon  the  chequer-board — always  the 
same,  whether  you'm  playing  for  love  or 
for  money.  Now  'tis  the  maiden's  turn. 
The  rule  is  for  the  maiden  to  turn  it 
off  with  a  quip.  Out  with  your  quip, 
Dorinda." 

"  Fine  courting  weather  for  the  chaps," 
said  Dorinda  with  a  giggle.  Please  to 

understand  :    you   are   not    to  judge    her, 
D  2  35 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


here  or  elsewhere,  by  your  sophisticated 
drawing-room  standards.  No  doubt  a 
countess  in  a  like  situation  could  have 
turned  the  repartee  differently  and  refined 
on  the  giggle.  But  Dorinda  is  no  countess, 
and  the  realist  refrains  from  importing 
into  a  humble  cottage  the  icy  manners 
and  lambent  wit  of  the  gilded  saloon. 
Her  paternal  critic  was  satisfied  ;  let  his 
criterion  be  yours  for  the  time. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  approvingly. 
"  Straight  to  the  pint,  and  leave  the  chap 
to  jedge  whether  you'm  stroking  his  face 
or  slapping  of  it.  Now,  uncle,  your 
move.  Something  gay  but  tender,  and 
more  meant  than  do  meet  the  eye." 

But  Miss  Roscorla's  disapproval  of  this 
dangerous  trifling  now  rose  to  the  point 
where  it  could  no  longer  be  suppressed. 

"  A  joke's  a  joke,"  she  said,  jumping  to 

her   feet.      "  I'm   all   for   a  joke   myself, 

36 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

when  'tis  a  joke  ;  but  not  when  it  turn 
to  tejousness,  making  a  mock  of  grey 
hairs  and  putting  fullish  notions  into 
empty  heads.  Come,  Lazarus." 

In  the  circles  to  which  I  address  my 
tale,  the  art  of  winking  is  rapidly  fall- 
ing into  desuetude.  More's  the  pity.  In 
all  the  silent  language  of  the  eye,  there 
is  no  more  expressive  vocable,  when 
enunciated  by  a  skilled  practitioner  like 
Mr.  Varco. 

Miss  Roscorla  led  the  way  with  her 
brother,  grasping  him  firmly  by  the  arm, 
while  with  her  disengaged  hand  she  ad- 
justed his  hat,  arranged  his  neckcloth,  and 
felt  in  his  various  pockets  to  make  sure 
that  handkerchief,  pipe,  pouch  and  money 
were  in  their  proper  places.  Behind  them 
Dickon  towed  his  wife  to  the  door,  where 
he  remembered  a  neglected  duty  and 
darted  off  "  to  mait  the  pegs,"  leaving 

37 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


her  to  waddle  on  alone.  Dorinda  lingered, 
waiting  for  Charles  Edward  to  look  up. 
Charles  Edward  has  said  nothing  so  far  ; 
you  may  have  forgotten  his  existence. 
Charles  Edward  has  not  had  the  heart 
to  speak  since  Dorinda  appeared.  He 
makes  a  tragic  figure  as  he  stands  in  the 
corner,  gazing  obstinately  at  his  toes,  and 
turning  two  bright  shillings  over  and  over 
in  his  pocket — shillings  he  has  earned  with 
the  earliest  sweat  of  his  brow  and  denied 
himself  cigarettes  to  keep  intact,  that  he 
may  treat  his  little  sweetheart  to  locusts 
and  honey-balls  at  St.  Hender  Feast.  And 
now,  what  awful  miracle  has  been  ac- 
complished ?  What  tall  unapproachable 
divinity  is  this?  This,  the  merry  comrade 
who  so  oft  has  shared  his  toffee,  pocket- 
warm,  and  paid  him  with  a  sticky  kiss  ? 

Still    Dorinda   lingered,   her    magnetic 
glance  on  the  hapless  youth,  until  at  last 

38' 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

his  eyes  were  irresistibly  drawn  to  en- 
counter hers.  In  his  looks  she  read  ample 
confirmation  of  her  mirror's  story,  and 
she  trilled  a  cruel  laugh  of  triumph.  It 
was  a  dagger  in  his  heart.  Without  a 
word,  without  another  look,  he  dashed 
past  her  with  lowered  head,  and  flung 
from  the  room,  leaving  the  insolent  beauty 
to  the  enjoyment  of  her  first  triumph — 
petty  enough,  perhaps,  but  giving  earnest 
of  more  glorious  victories  to  come. 

Still  Dorinda  lingered,  dallying  with 
the  moments,  instinctively  hesitating  ere 
she  crossed  the  threshold  and  shut  the 
front  door  for  ever  on  her  childhood. 
With  her  little  hand  hollowed  out  like  a 
rose-petal,  she  reflectively  patted  the  shin- 
ing coils  of  her  hair  ;  a  pretty  gesture, 
that  comes  untaught  to  new-born  woman- 
hood. She  gazed  about  the  room,  and 
discovered  that  it  was  full  of  mirrors  ; 

39 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

and  at  once  her  sobriety  took  wings.  She 
danced  like  a  butterfly  round  the  walls, 
poising  and  peering  at  every  polished  sur- 
face ;  and  everywhere — in  the  creampans 
and  saucepans,  in  the  picture-glasses,  in 
the  clock-cases  —  more  or  less  shadowy 
and  distorted  Dorindas  started  forth  to 
meet  her.  She  caught  up  a  big  spoon 
from  the  table,  and  drew  down  her  lips 
in  mocking  emulation  of  the  grotesque 
tragedy-mask  it  presented  to  her  view. 

"  Turn  him  t'other  way  about,  my 
dear,"  said  a  voice  behind  her. 

With  a  startled  chirrup  she  spun  and 
faced  her  father. 

"Turn  him  about,  my  cheeld,"  Dickon 
repeated,  "  and  he'll  be  laughing  upon  'e, 
you'll  find.  And  there  you  got  the  world 
in  a  gravy-spoon,  merry  or  sad,  according 
as  you  do  take  hold  of  'm.  But  come — 

your  ma  '11  be  wondering  where  we'm  to. 

40 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Come  ;  you  can  take  your  old  da's  arm,  if 
you  ben't  too  proud." 

"  Dear  daddy  !  "  she  murmured,  affec- 
tionately clinging  to  him.  He  glanced  at 
her  with  admiring  fondness. 

"Old  daddy's  proud  of  his  pretty  daugh- 
ter," he  said.  "  And  he  an't  a-going  to 
read  her  no  tejous  old  sarmons  'bout  how 
she  belong  to  behave  now  she's  growed 
up.  Some  of  these  maids,  now,  they'm 
like  bluebottles  :  honey  or  stale  fish,  'tis 
all  one  to  them,  nor  they  can't  taste  of 
nother  one  without  they  get  all  of  a  mess. 
And  a  maid  haven'  got  six  legs,  four  to 
stand  on  while  she  clane  herself  with 
the  other  two.  You  take  my  maning, 
cheeld-vean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  daddy,  "  she  said,  and  squeezed 
his  arm. 

"  That's  right.  Come  along,  then, 
and  enjoy  yourself.  Plenty  of  honest  fun 

41 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

in  the  world,  thanks  be.  Come,  my 
apple-blossom." 

They  had  just  stepped  outside  the  door, 
when  the  sound  of  a  throat  a-clearing 
made  them  look  up.  At  her  bedroom 
window  sat  Mrs.  Barron,  a  sallow,  withered 
dame  of  sixty,  with  eyes  like  boot-buttons 
and  a  nose  that  had  no  secrets  from  her 
chin.  The  window  being  open,  she  was 
arrayed  against  the  treacherous  summer 
blasts  in  complete  outdoor  panoply  — 
mushroom  hat,  heavily  beaded  cape,  and 
gloves  like  hedgers'  gauntlets.  A  pair  of 
opera-glasses  stood  on  the  sill,  convenient 
to  her  hand. 

"  Well,  Emma,"  said  Dickon,  "  how's 
your  symptoms  ? " 

"  Wisht,  wisht,"  she  replied,  while  her 
sharp  eyes  added  Dorinda  up  from  foot  to 
head  and  back  again.  "  Wisht,  terrible 

wisht.     Wake  as  a  robin,  sick  as  a  shag. 

42 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

You  needn'  be  frightened  to  find  a  black- 
face corp'  hanging  out  o'  window  when 
you  come  back-along." 

"  All  right,  Emma,"  he  replied,  cheer- 
fully unappalled.  "  And  how  do  'e  think 
the  maid's  looking  ?  " 

"  H'm  !  She  won't  feel  lonely,  I  seem. 
There's  three  gone  up  already  the  very 
dapse  of  her — same  hat,  same  dress,  same 
everything." 

"  But  not  the  same  face,  I  reckon," 
said  Dickon,  soothing  away  his  daughter's 
grimace  of  annoyance. 

"  There's  fifty-seven  people  gone  up 
since  twelve  o'clock  that  I  know  by," 
continued  Mrs.  Barren.  "  Won't  say  but 
there  might  be  a  few  more  crep'  by 
under  the  hedge.  They're  mean  enough, 
some  of  'em.  'Tis  your  hedge,  Dickon, 
and  if  you  were  the  good  neighbour  you 
set  yourself  up  to  be,  you'd  trim  it  a  deal 
43 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 


shorter,  and  cut  down  that  gashly  old 
apple-tree  there  to  the  gate.  He've  gone 
away  up  four  feet  since  March  month." 

"  How  !  Cut  down  Lord  Derby  ! 
Why,  Emma,  there  edn'  a  handsomer 
tree  nor  a  more  delicate  bearer  in  all  the 
orchard  !  " 

"  Handsome  is  as  handsome  does,  and 
he  get  in  the  way  something  terrible 
after  that.  There  might  be  a  murder 
done  to  your  very  gate,  and  me  setting 
here  and  not  getting  so  much  as  a  glimp' 
of  it.  But  there  !  what  do  'a  matter  ? 
'Twill  soon  be  all  one  to  me.  If  I  live 
through  the  night,  that's  more  'n  I've 
the  right  to  expect.  Who's  that  ? " 

The  glasses  were  snatched  up  and 
brought  to  bear  ;  she  bobbed  to  and  fro, 
craning  her  neck,  like  an  uneasy  cor- 
morant on  a  rock,  and  finally  leaned  side- 
ways out  of  the  window  at  an  angle  that 

44 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

an  active  schoolboy  would  have  considered 
risky. 

"  Only  the  Hamblys,"  she  announced, 
recovering  herself  as  briskly  as  Punch  in 
the  puppet-show.  "  Silas's  rheumatics  '11 
be  worse  agin,  by  the  way  he  walk. 
Sarah  have  got  her  reg'lar  bottle  of  gin  in 
her  gown-pocket,  I  know,  by  the  way  she 
inched  up  to  Silas  so's  to  hide  the  bulge 
of  it  when  she  see  me  looking.  Same  old 
clo'es  as  last  feast-day  ;  she've  turned  her 
cape,  though,  and  a  wisht  poor  job  she've 
made  of  it.  Fifty-nine.  And  not  one  of 
'em  got  the  dacency  to  step  a  yard  aside 
and  ask  the  state  of  my  health.  Mind, 
Dorinda,  if  anybody  should  inquire,  I'm 
so  bad  as  can  be,  and  got  three  new 
symptoms  since  last  week.  That  makes 
eleven,  and  if  I  knowed  which  one  was 
going  to  carr'  me  off  I'd  die  comfor'ble. 
But  to  go  to  your  grave  and  never  know 
45 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

what's  taking  of  'e  there — spasms  or 
sciatic  or  inflammation  or  what — 'tis 
enough  to  make  'e  cut  your  throat." 

"  You'd  be  dead  sure  then,  for  sartain," 
commented  Dickon.  "  Well,  must  be 
getting  along,  b'lieve." 

"  Hope  you'll  enjoy  yourselfs,  I'm  sure," 
said  Mrs.  Barren  lugubriously.  "  You 
needn't  go  worrying  'bout  me,  shut  up  all 
alone  with  nobody  near  in  case  of  accident. 
If  anything  should  happen,  plaise-sure  you 
won't  know  till  you  get  back,  so  your 
holiday  won't  be  spiled  anyhow." 

"  Ouf  !  "  puffed  Dickon  under  his 
breath  as  they  moved  away.  "  Emma's 
terrible  malincholy  to-day,  poor  soul. 
Must  sarch  out  some  tasty  scandal  to  take 
back  to  her.  You  mind  how  bad  she  was 
Jast  winter,  till  Mrs.  Crapp  down  to  cove 
took  and  run  away  with  the  fish-buyer. 

Cheered  her  up  wonderful,  that  did  ;  she 

46 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

was  up  and  about  for  weeks  after,  so  lively 
as  a  cricket.  Ess,  must  see  what  we  can 
do  for  her.  But  we  won't  cut  down  Lord 
Derby,  will  us,  cheeld  ?  "  he  added  as  they 
approached  that  ancient  worthy. 

For  answer,  Dorinda  took  a  step  aside, 
put  an  arm  about  the  tree,  and  patted  its 
scarred  trunk  reassuringly  with  her  soft 
hand.  Such  an  action  sits  properly  and 
prettily  enough  on  a  child  or  a  young 
maiden  ;  but  other  folk  had  best  think  of 
their  sins,  and  refrain  from  bestowing  un- 
invited caresses  on  an  aged  and  innocent 
creature  who  is  powerless  to  respond  or 
resist. 

They  found  the  others  waiting  for  them 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  Here  by  the  way- 
side— "  tied  to  the  hedge  with  a  bremble," 
as  the  saying  goes — stood  the  shop  and 
forge,  shuttered  and  smokeless  to-day, 
where  Nicky  and  Hubert  Barren  plied 

47 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

their  trade.  Here  too  the  little  river 
sidled  across  the  highway  in  a  most  friendly 
and  informal  fashion,  slipping  unobserved 
out  of  a  gorse-thicket,  spreading  and  sun- 
ning itself  in  the  road  for  a  lazy  silent 
moment,  and  then  gathering  its  robes 
together  for  a  dive  under  the  footbridge, 
and  so  away  with  a  song  among  the 
meadowsweet  and  ragged  robin.  I  know 
of  no  more  delightful  loitering-place  than 
this.  There  is  the  hill  before  you  to 
justify  a  halt  ;  on  working  days  there  is 
the  smithy  with  its  bright  glow  and  merry 
din — lives  there  a  man  so  insensible  to 
the  delights  of  colour  and  rhythm  and 
moving  incident  that  he  can  resist  the 
invitation  of  a  smithy  door  ? — and  there, 
heedless  of  the  clang  of  hammers,  only 
momentarily  interrupted  by  passing  traps 
and  waggons,  a  lively  traffic  of  fish  and 
bird  and  beast  goes  on  all  day,- along  one 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

of    Nature's    own    private    thoroughfares. 
Shoals  of  baby  trout  nuzzle  at  the  water's 
warm  lip  in  the  very  middle  of  the  road  ; 
white-masked    wagtails    rush   to    and   fro 
with  twinkling  legs,  leaping  suddenly  into 
the   air,    turning    unexpectedly    on    their 
heels    as   they   run    down    their   invisible 
game  ;  a  water-rat,  that  most  ingenuous 
and  engaging  of  quadrupeds,  goes  leisur- 
ably  across,  half  walking,  half  swimming 
in     the    shallows,    or    sits    combing    his 
whiskers  on   the   bridge  ;    or  a    dowager 
moorhen  stalks  past,  bobbing  her  red  top- 
knot and  shaking  her  white  bustle,  with 
a  crowd  of  youngsters  tumbling  after  her, 
each  a  fuzzy  black  ball   touched  with  a 
single  scarlet  point  ;  or  a  flash  of  brilliant 
colour  strikes  across  your  eyes,  and   the 
kingfisher   is  gone  before    you   know  he 
has    come.     Right    under  the    bridge    a 

water-ouzel    sits    with    his    white    breast 
E  49 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

against  a  stone,  and  chirps  his  hurried 
inarticulate  water-song  ;  among  the  bushes 
on  the  other  side  of  the  way  a  sedge- 
warbler  creaks  and  chides,  and  maliciously 
retails  all  the  scandalous  gossip  of  the 
hedgerows — what  the  frightened  chaffinch 
said,  and  what  the  angry  blackbird,  and 
what  the  amorous  thrush.  There  are  rare 
secrets,  no  doubt,  to  be  learned  in  dense 
forests  and  on  trackless  moors  ;  but  some 
of  us  love  best  of  all  the  easy  familiarity 
of  these  wayside  resting-places,  where  men 
and  wild  creatures  go  about  their  affairs 
without  mutual  hindrance,  and  Nature, 
like  Sidney's  Muse,  "  tempers  her  words 
to  trampling  horses'  feet." 

But  Dorinda  and  her  friends  are  already 
mounting  the  hill,  and  we  must  not  linger 
behind.  Note  as  you  go  how  the  road 
takes  the  ascent,  with  a  mingling  of 
caution  and  daring  very  characteristic  of 

50 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

the  Cornish  temperament  ;  starting  cir- 
cumspectly with  a  series  of  elaborate 
curves  and  zigzags,  and  then,  with  the 
stiffest  bit  of  all  before  it,  impatiently 
throwing  strategy  to  the  winds,  and  storm- 
ing the  summit  with  a  valiant  charge. 
There  the  grey  tower  of  St.  Render 
Church  comes  into  sight,  with  sloping 
blue  roofs  and  rounded  tree-tops  heaped 
about  it.  A  gay  flag  floats  on  its  summit  ; 
and  out  of  its  upper  windows,  like  wild 
bees  from  a  rock,  hurry  endless  flights  of 
swarming,  humming  notes  that  hang  and 
cluster,  or  speed  anear,  or  flee  and  vanish 
afar,  in  obedience  to  the  gentle  caprices 
of  the  summer  breeze.  And  now,  with 
your  permission,  we  will  step  ahead  of 
our  party,  and  set  the  scene  for  their 
entrance  on  the  Feast. 


E   2 


Ill 

DISTINGUISHING  St.  Render  Church- 
town  in  my  memory  from  a  score  of  other 
tidy,  clean,  blue  and  grey  upland  villages, 
I  always  begin  by  calling  to  mind  the  elm 
trees  that  stand  about  the  church.  If  you 
are  acquainted  only  with  the  hammer- 
headed,  warty-limbed  monsters  of  the 
midland  hedge-rows, you  will  hardly  recog- 
nize these  slim  beauties  for  their  sisters. 
No  excrescences  disfigure  their  shapely 
stems,  which  shoot  up,  straight,  lightly 
plumed  with  twigs,  and  slender  beyond 
belief,  to  a  height  of  forty  feet  or  more, 
before  they  fork  and  burst  into  a  sheaf  of 
fine-leaved  foliage.  Their  proportions  are 
scarcely  stouter  than  those  of  a  peacock's 
feather,  which  they  strikingly  resemble  in 

profile.       The  least  puff  of  air  sets   them 

52 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

rocking  ;  in  a  gale  they  bend  and  toss 
like  young  dancing  Maenads.  There  is 
something  so  exquisitely  feminine  in  the 
appearance  of  these  airy,  flexile  creatures, 
that  a  man  is  bound  to  lose  his  heart  to 
them  at  sight.  You  may  remember  that 
the  two  most  lovable  young  women  in 
all  the  world  of  books — Nausicaa  and 
Clara  Middleton — are  compared  by  their 
creators  to  trees:  the  one  to  a  young  palm 
tree,  and  the  other  to  a  silver  birch  in  a 
breeze.  When  first  I  described  Dorinda 
with  a  profusion  of  images  drawn  from 
Nature's  store-house,  I  likened  her,  not 
inappropriately,  to  a  young  poplar;  but  if 
I  may  now  be  permitted  to  withdraw  the 
poplar,  and  substitute  one  of  her  own  native 
elms,  I  shall  feel  happy  in  the  modest  assur- 
ance that  my  heroine  will  hold  her  own 
with  Homer's  and  Mr.  Meredith's,  at  least 
so  far  as  the  comparison  will  carry  her. 
53 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Excepting  the  elms,  St.  Render  has 
little  to  distinguish  it  from  its  neighbours. 
It  consists  mainly  of  a  double  row  of 
houses  up  street,  with  doorsteps  giving 
on  the  road,  and  a  scattering  of  other 
houses  down  street,  standing  back  behind 
gardens.  The  down-street  folk  are  doubt- 
ful of  the  gentility  of  the  up-street  folk  ; 
the  up-street  folk  have  no  doubts  at  all 
about  the  morality  of  the  down-street  folk. 
The  church,  a  chapel,  a  school,  a  shop, 
and  a  policeman  serve  the  material  and 
moral  needs  of  all. 

The  revels  are  not  yet  at  their  height, 
but  a  numerous  company  is  already  as- 
sembled. Some  parade  the  street,  where 
the  chief  attraction  is  a  row  of  "  standings" 
or  stalls  for  the  sale  of  sweetmeats.  Many 
have  already  found  their  way  into  the  glebe 
meadow,  where  races  are  being  run,  and 
the  Harmonious  Rechabites — Wesleyans 

54 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

and  teetotalers  all — are  pounding  and 
groping  their  brazen  and  indomitable  way 
through  the  variegated  layers — quick 
slow,  loud,  soft,  martial,  pathetic — of  a 
Sacred  Fantasia.  A  select  assembly  is 
mustered  in  the  churchyard,  where  they 
stand  in  silent  groups  with  bowed  heads, 
like  moorland  cattle  in  a  storm,  under  the 
pelting  rain  of  sounds  that  gushes  from 
the  belfry.  Here  is  the  Vicar  in  the 
midst  of  a  little  group  of  quality-folk, 
who  are  doing  their  best  to  enjoy  them- 
selves immensely.  If  now  and  then  a 
delicate  hand  goes  up  to  a  ladylike  ear 
you  perceive  in  a  moment  that  it  is  only 
to  pat  a  stray  lock  into  place.  Yonder 
with  watches  and  note-books  are  the 
judges  :  two  farmers,  a  curate,  a  retired 
butcher — it  is  a  noteworthy,  and  to  house- 
holders a  suspicious,  fact  that  the  world  is 
full  of  retired  butchers,  many  of  them  in 

55 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

the  prime  of  life — and  the  chief  engineer 
to  the  local  district  council  :  he,  I  mean, 
who  steers  the  steam-roller  with  such 
skill  and  judgment  over  the  hills  and 
dales  of  fifteen  crumpled  parishes.  Art 
knows  no  social  grades  ;  their  heads  are 
in  confidential  proximity,  and  one  and 
all  wear  an  identical  expression  on 
their  faces — an  expression  hard  to  de- 
scribe, but  to  be  seen  any  day  at  flower- 
shows  and  other  places  where  judicial  func- 
tions are  imposed  on  the  amateur.  It  is 
intended,  I  believe,  to  indicate  a  subtle 
combination  of  thoughtful  attention,  strict 
impartiality,  and  modest  deprecation  of 
greatness  neither  born  to  nor  achieved. 

Here  and  there  you  will  observe  ancient 
men  seated  on  flat  tombstones  with  stubs 
of  pencils  in  their  hands.  From  time  to 
time  the  pencils  go  up  to  their  mouths  ; 
a  moment  of  deliberation,  and  a  hiero- 

56 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


glyph  is  inscribed  on  the  sepulchral  slate. 
These  are  the  unofficial  critics — campano- 
logical  enthusiasts,  who  have  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  all  the  peals  for  miles 
around  and  can  tell  you  the  weight,  tonal 
qualities,  and  private  idiosyncrasies  of 
every  constituent  bell.  Presently  it  will 
be  their  painful  duty  to  condemn  and  re- 
fute the  judges'  awards,  and  one  another's 
decisions  as  well.  Long  after  the  rest  of 
the  company  has  departed,  the  tide  of 
argument  will  continue  to  surge  about 
those  peaceful  headstones. 

'Now  your  attention  is  directed  to 
several  groups  of  six  men  each,  who 
stand  apart,  talking  but  little,  and  that  in 
undertones,  shadowed  by  the  near  approach 
of  a  great  responsibility.  Of  one  group 
you  take  particular  notice.  Five  are  old- 
sters, the  sixth  is  in  the  prime  of  well-set- 
up young  manhood.  On  Hubert  Barren, 
57 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

the  neophyte,  the  shadow  is  deepest.  He 
wipes  a  moist  hand  on  a  coat-flap,  he  jigs 
a  nervous  knee,  he  bores  holes  in  the  turf 
with  his  stick  ;  he  wishes  his  father  hadn't 
been  so  ready  to  thrust  him  forward  ;  he 
wishes  he  had  followed  his  youthful  im- 
pulse ten  years  ago  and  run  away  to  sea  ; 
he  wishes  he  were  under  the  grass  in 
that  cool  unoccupied  corner  down  there 
by  the  sycamore.  In  short,  Hubert  has 
a  bad  attack  of  stage-fright.  His  father 
— that  tall,  gaunt  old  man  with  the  goat- 
beard — has  anxiously  noted  it,  and  is 
wisely  refraining  from  any  attempt  to  dis- 
pel it,  while  thanking  his  stars  that  the 
turn  of  the  home  team  comes  next. 

The  clamour  in  the  belfry  quickened, 
doubled,  slowed  again,  as  bell  after  bell 
was  brought  down,  and  suddenly  ceased, 
leaving  a  confused  hum  of  overtones  and 
undertones  in  every  ear.  The  tombstone 

58 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

critics  totted  up  their  marks  ;  the  judges 
scribbled  in  their  note-books,  exchanged  a 
few  pregnant  words  and  nods,  and  relaxed 
their  facial  identity  to  a  variety  of  every- 
day expressions.  The  Vicar  detached  him- 
self from  his  guests  and  hurried  across 
to  the  St.  Render  champions. 

"  Now,  friends,"  he  said  in  his  hyper- 
bolically  genial  week-a-day  manner,  which 
was  so  disconcertingly  unlike  his  profes- 
sional pulpit  manner,  and  bore  no  resem- 
blance at  all  to  his  natural  manner,  which 
last  was  known  only  to  his  wife  and 
possibly  his  bishop  :  "  Now,  friends,  your 
turn  next.  Keep  steady,  thirty  rounds  to 
the  minute,  and  don't  forget  you've  the 
credit  of  our  dear  old  parish  in  your 
hands." 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Trevelyan. 
Trust  us  else." 

"  A  pretty  c  touch,'  that  last,"  continued 
59 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

the  Vicar,  airing  his  acquaintance  with 
belfry  technicalities.  "  But  I  think  we 
can  show  them  a  better — aha,  Barren  ?  " 

"  'Tis  to  be  hoped  we  do,"  replied 
Nicky.  "  Pretty  ringing,  as  you  do  say  ; 
so  nate  and  clane  as  ever  I  heard  from  an 
up-the-country  team.  But  we'm  at  home, 
that's  where  'tis, — with  our  own  bells, 
that  we  do  know  without  book  from  rope- 
end  to  clapper  so  well  as  we  do  know  our 
own  wives,  and  better  pVaps.  So  don't 
you  fret,  Mr.  Trevelyan.  Barring  acci- 
dents, we'm  safe  enough,  I  reckon." 

"  That's  right,  that's  right.  Now,  here 
come  the  others.  In  with  you,  and  good 
luck." 

The  two  teams  passed  each  other,  ex- 
changing looks  carefully  stripped  of  all 
expression,  rivalry  and  fellow-artistry  can- 
celling one  another  and  leaving  a  cipher 

for   a   result.      At  the    belfry  door  stood 

60 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

William  Bone  the  sexton,  keeping  guard. 
St.  Render's  ringing  chamber  was  small 
and  cramped,  and  the  autocratic  Nicky  set 
his  face  sternly  against  the  admission  of 
idle  spectators,  even  at  practices  ;  much 
more  on  such  a  critical  occasion  as  this. 

"  Now  mind,  Billy,"  said  he.  "  Door 
shut  home  so  soon  as  we'm  inside,  and  no 
admission,  not  if  'tis  the  Vicar  himself." 

"  Not  if  'twas  the  Pope  of  Rome,  with 
a  bundle  of  firewood  under  aich  arm,  and 
4  Leave  me  geek  or  you  burn '  'pon  his 
lips  !  "  was  the  emphatic  answer. 

They  filed  in,  and  the  door  closed  upon 
them.  In  silence  they  hung  up  their 
hats  and  coats,  took  each  man  his  allotted 
place,  and  coiled  each  man  the  loose  end 
of  his  rope  in  readiness.  Nicky  cast  a 
rapid  glance  overhead,  down  along  the 
ropes,  at  the  floor,  at  the  door,  and  lastly 

at  his  men,  dwelling  for  a   moment     on 

61 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Hubert,  and  noting  with  satisfaction  that 
all  signs  of  nervousness  had  vanished. 

"  Ready  ! " 

They  grasped  the  fellets,  or  handling- 
tufts, which  are  more  commonly  known  as 
"  sallies  "  —I  suppose  on  account  of  their 
resemblance  to  the  fluffy  catkins  of  the 
goat-willow  or  sallow. 

"  Go  !  " 

With  military  precision  they  turned 
sideways,  so  that  each  member  of  the 
circle  had  his  eye  on  the  rope  of  the  bell 
he  was  to  follow  in  the  opening  rounds. 

"  Gone  ! " 

Each  man  in  turn,  from  treble  to  tenor, 
bore  gently  and  firmly  on  his  rope. 
There  followed  that  moment  of  dignified 
silence  which  so  surprises  and  impresses 
the  uninitiated  spectator,  used  as  he  is  to 
the  pertly  instantaneous  response  of  the 

vulgar    house-bell  ;     and    then,    muffled, 

62 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

sweet,  even,  nicely  graded  as  a  string  of 
pearls,  the  answering  voices  of  the  im- 
prisoned monsters  swam  out  on  high. 
Nothing  gives  more  delight  to  the  under- 
standing eye  and  ear  than  this  quaint  little 
ritual  of  the  rising  of  the  bells.  And  to 
think  that  in  some  benighted  parishes 
they  are  risen  separately  in  a  distressing 
sequence  of  solitary  jangles,  as  if  a  drunken 
man  or  mischievous  child  were  tugging 
at  the  ropes  haphazard  ! 

Precisely  at  that  moment  our  friends 
from  Sunny  Corner  arrived  at  the  crying- 
cross  by  the  churchyard  gate.  There 
they  separated  :  Mr.  Varco  to  flit  from 
group  to  group,  showering  quips  as  he 
went;  Mrs.  Varco  to  enter  the  first  of  the 
hospitably  open  doors  behind  which  it 
was  her  intention  to  spend  the  rest  of  the 
day  in  a  series  of  comfortable  chats  with 

63 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

old  cronies  ;  Miss  Roscorla  to  search  for 
Charles  Edward,  unaccountably  vanished 
and  held  under  suspicion  of  clandestine 
cigarette-smoking  ;  Mr.  Roscorla  into 
the  churchyard,  there  to  sit  and  confer 
with  his  stick  on  a  convenient  tombstone  ; 
and  Dorinda  to  join  for  the  first  time  the 
band  of  grown-up  maidens,  who  paraded 
the  street,  arm  in  arm,  a  fresh  and  fra- 
grant nosegay  of  beauties.  Her  we  follow 
as  in  duty  bound. 

She  was  greeted  with  critical  stares  and 
scornful  giggles,  and  a  voice  that  said — 

"  Go  away,  little  girl,  and  play  with 
the  little  boys." 

But  Dorinda,  with  a  laugh  and  a  jest, 
took  the  speaker  irresistibly  by  the  waist, 
and  joined  in  the  light  chatter  that  I  dare 
not  pen  on  paper,  lest  I  soil  its  butterfly 
wings.  In  two  minutes,  by  sheer  force 

of  personality,  she  was  the  acknowledged 

64 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

leader  of  the  band  ;  and  when  the  question 
arose,  where  to  go  and  what  to  do  next, 
it  was  she  who  carried  the  day  with  her 
suggestion  that  the  folk  in  the  church- 
yard looked  terrible  solid  and  mopish,  and 
why  not  go  and  cheer  them  up  a  bit  ? 

In  they  poured  through  the  lych-gate, 
and  swept  round  the  church,  lifting  their 
voices  three  parts  in  laughter  and  one 
part  in  talk.  Young  men,  perched  here 
and  there  on  the  churchyard  wall,  cast 
longing  glances  on  them  as  they  passed, 
but  none  was  found  so  bold  as  to  engage 
the  raillery  of  a  dozen  maidenly  tongues 
at  once.  With  light  feet  they  trampled 
the  dust  of  generations,  and  once  and 
again  they  gathered  about  a  headstone, 
and  a  young  voice  put  warmth  and  music 
into  a  cold  hie  jacet. 

At  his    post  by    the    belfry  door,  Mr. 

Bone  regarded  them  with  a  disapproving 
F  65 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

eye  ;  and  at  last,  as  for  the  third  time 
they  fluttered  twittering  past  him,  he 
raised  his  voice  in  hoarse  reprobation. 

"  Shame  upon  'e,  maidens,  chattering 
and  laughing  among  the  silent  tombs  !  " 

The  bevy  paused  and  wheeled  like  a 
flock  of  linnets. 

"  'Tis  Billy  Bone,  the  crotchety  old 
toad.  Under  the  harrow  with  him  !  " 

"  Who  steals  the  church  candle-ends  and 
takes  them  home  to  start  the  fire  with  ?  ' 

"  Billy  Bone  !  " 

"  Who  went  to  sleep  one  Sunday  and 
said  Amen  in  the  middle  of  the  dis- 
course ?  " 

"  Billy  Bone  !  " 

"  Who  starved  his  wife  for  the  sake  of 
her  burying  fee  ?  "  I  regret  to  say  that 
Dorinda  was  responsible  for  this  scanda- 
lous insinuation. 

"  Billy  Bone  !  Oh,  Billy  Bone  !  " 
66 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Mr.  Bone's  wrath  overflowed  into  shout- 
ings. 

"  Ah,  ye  flirtingills  !  Ah,  ye  daughters 
of  Babylon  !  In  white  and  blue  and  pink 
I  behold  'e,  but  scarlet's  your  proper  wear. 
Keep  back  from  the  door  there,  will  'e  ?  " 

"  Who's  keeping  the  snuggest  corner  of 
all  for  his  own  trumpery  old  carcase  ?  " 

"  Billy  Bone.  Shame  upon  'e,  Billy 
Bone  !  " 

Duty  was  forgot.  "  Out  of  the  church- 
yard with  'e  !  "  shouted  Billy,  advancing 
with  waving  arms  upon  the  flock,  which 
scattered  with  shrill  cries  before  him. 
Who  was  it  that  doubled  back,  and  all 
unseen  darted  to  the  door  and  turned  the 
prohibited  handle  ?  Who  but  Dorinda, 
her  normal  feminine  curiosity  stimulated 
by  a  desire  to  prove  and  confirm  her 
new-found  womanhood  with  a  taste  of 

forbidden  fruit  ? 

F  2  67 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Cautiously  she  pushed  open  the  door  a 
few  inches  and  peeped  within. 

A  shaft  of  sunlight  slanted  from  an 
upper  window  into  her  eyes.  Dimly 
seen  in  the  dusty  sonorous  gloom  beyond, 
six  silent  figures  lifted  their  arms  to 
heaven  and  bowed  themselves,  as  if  they 
were  engaged  in  some  strange  devotional 
ceremony.  It  was  a  sight  that  few  of 
her  sex  have  been  privileged  to  set  eyes 
on,  and  to  her  irreverent  and  uncom- 
prehending eyes  I  fear  it  was  a  foolishly 
comical  sight  ;  had  she  dared,  she  would 
have  laughed  aloud  at  the  ridiculous 
figures  these  rapt  artists  cut  at  their  unin- 
telligible game.  No  two  of  them  tackled 
their  ropes  in  the  same  fashion.  Wizened 
old  Michael  Cock  at  the  tenor  bell 
squatted  at  every  down-stroke  like  the 
bottom  man  in  a  sawpit,  his  knees 

flying    abroad    after    the    manner    of   a 

68 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

swimming  frog's.  At  the  fourth  bell, 
Mason  Tripcony  doubled  himself  up  like 
a  two-foot  rule,  grunting  softly  as  one 
vexed  with  an  inward  pain.  At  the  third, 
Bartle  the  shoemaker  ducked  with  a 
sudden  jerk,  avoiding  some  invisible  mis- 
sile ;  Roger  Tregear  at  the  second  swept 
a  polite  but  distant  bow  to  a  ghostly 
acquaintance.  Nicky  Barron,  the  treble, 
was  the  skilfullest  ringer  with  the  lightest 
bell.  Of  him  it  had  been  admiringly 
said  that,  once  his  bell  was  risen,  he  could 
ring  it  with  a  needleful  of  thread.  Ex- 
cept for  his  hands  and  arms  he  scarcely 
moved  at  all,  but  remained  stiffly  upright, 
rocking  almost  imperceptibly  from  the 
hips  upwards,  a  precise  piece  of  machinery 
rather  than  a  man.  The  ringer  of  the  fifth 
bell  was  the  only  one  of  the  set  who 
could  be  called  graceful.  Lithe,  upstand- 
ing, effortless,  not  so  much  clutching  the 

69 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

fellet  at  each  return  as  allowing  it  to  slip 
into  his  hand,  swaying  slightly  and  easily, 
bowing  ever  so  little,  Hubert  might  have 
been  the  one  human  figure  in  a  group  of 
grotesque  automata.  He  was  ringing  his 
best,  and  tasting  the  joys  of  skilled  and 
numbered  exercise  as  only  the  expert 
ringer  can.  The  rope  was  a  part  of 
himself— a  long,  flexible  feeler  communi- 
cating between  his  brain  and  the  spot, 
overhead  and  out  of  sight,  where  his 
great  bell  poised  itself  mouth  upwards  on 
the  balance,  or  swept  free  through  its 
circular  journey,  sensitively  respondent 
at  each  pause  to  his  firm  yet  delicate 
control.  The  little  enclosed  chamber  was 
a  world  apart — a  world  of  ordered  rhythm, 
sequestered  from  the  confused  and  tumul- 
tuous world  of  men  by  thick  walls  of 
impenetrable  granite.  Rhythmically  he 

and    his    companions   bent    and    swung  ; 

70 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

rhythmically  the  ropes  tap-tapped  on  the 
floor  and  rustled  between  their  hands  ; 
rhythmically  they  rattled  through  the 
fellet-holes  above  ;  and  rhythmically  from 
on  high  came  the  soothed  music  of  the 
dancing  bells.  At  other  times  Hubert 
was  no  more  noteworthy  for  comeliness  of 
feature  or  grace  of  gesture  than  the  first 
young  rustic  you  might  meet  in  the  lanes  ; 
but  now,  giving  and  taking  motion  in 
music,  with  parted  lips  and  eyes  that 
seemed  intent  on  some  celestial  vision,  he 
was  transfigured  out  of  his  ordinary  self. 
And  it  was  at  this  fortunate  moment, 
carefully  selected  by  Destiny,  that  Dorinda 
first  saw  him  with  her  new-washed 
womanly  eyes.  She  saw,  and  wonder- 
ingly  admired.  Here  was  the  Hubert 
of  every  day  and  all  the  year  round,  the 
big  boy  neighbour  who  was  as  familiar, 
and  about  as  emotionally  impressive  as  the 

71 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

water-butt,  or  Lord  Derby,  or  the  family 
mangle,  suddenly  transmuted  into  some- 
thing new  and  strange.  It  was  a  terrible 
funny  feeling,  she  allowed.  And  he  was 
certainly  a  proper  young  fellow. 

Some  three  seconds  had  now  elapsed 
since  Dorinda  first  peeped  in  at  the  door. 
If  to  the  reader  the  time  has  seemed 
considerably  longer,  that  is  not  altogether 
the  writer's  fault.  The  stuff  he  works 
in  is  at  least  partly  to  blame,  compelling 
him  as  it  does  to  cram  the  three  dimen- 
sions into  one,  and  to  express  everything, 
fixed  or  transitory,  solid,  plane,  or  alto- 
gether unbounded,  in  terms  of  an  ever- 
moving  line  of  words.  Some  day,  per- 
haps, there  will  arise  among  story-tellers 
an  innovator  bold  enough  to  dispose  of 
all  his  comments,  incidental  descriptions, 
and  lengthy  analyses  of  momentary  emo- 
tions, by  packing  them  away  in  small 

72 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

print  at  the  foot  of  the  page,  where  they 
will  not  obstruct  the  flow  of  the  narrative, 
and  may  be  skipped  at  pleasure  by  the 
large  and  respectable  class  that  cares 
nothing  for  these  things. 

Three  seconds,  then,  had  elapsed,  when 
the  leader  broke  silence  with  an  order — 

"  Fifth  to  third." 

They  were  ringing  in  the  old-fashioned, 
easy-going,  rustic  way — so  sneered  at  by 
the  self-styled  scientific  ringers,  but  not 
to  be  despised  for  that  reason — in  which 
each  change  in  the  sequence  of  the  bells, 
instead  of  being  immediately  abandoned 
in  favour  of  another,  was  repeated  a 
sufficient  number  of  times  for  all  the 
world  to  get  comfortably  accustomed  to  it. 
At  this  moment  they  were  nearing  the 
end  of  the  touch  (like  the  Vicar,  I  know 
enough  to  refrain  from  calling  it  a  peal), 
known  to  west-country  ringers  as  "  The 

73 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Queen's  Sixties."  The  treble  bell  was 
"  hunting/'  or  threading  its  way  among 
the  other  bells,  from  the  first  place  to  the 
fifth  and  back  again.  Each  time  it  reached 
the  end  of  its  journey  in  either  direction, 
it  waited  its  turn,  while  two  of  the  other 
bells  made  what  is  called  a  cross  change. 
It  was  one  of  these  cross  changes  that  was 
now  called  by  Nicky  ;  the  import  of  it 
being  that  Hubert  was  to  "hold-up"  or 
check  his  bell  in  the  next  round,  so  as  to 
allow  the  third  bell  to  cut  in  before  him. 
To  do  this,  he  had  to  turn  about  a  little, 
so  as  to  get  his  eye  on  the  rope  of  his 
new  leader.  Doing  this  he  would  also 
face  the  door. 

Hubert  turned,  and  at  the  same  moment 
Dorinda,  her  curiosity  freshly  stimulated 
by  Nicky's  announcement,  pushed  the  door 
open  an  inch  or  two  further.  Hubert 
allowed  his  attention  to  wander  for  an 

74 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

instant  from  the  critical  business  in  hand, 
and  was  lost — his  wits  scattered  to  the 
winds  before  a  vision  of  smiling  beauty 
set  in  a  glory  of  sunshine.  In  a  moment 
he  recovered  himself,  but  just  by  the 
length  of  that  moment  he  had  checked 
his  bell  too  long,  and  immediately  Five 
and  Two  clanged  together  in  horrid  dis- 
cord. The  vision  promptly  vanished,  like 
a  pantomime  fairy  when  the  demon  strikes 
the  gong. 

"  Stiddy,  stiddy  !  "  exclaimed  Nicky 
with  anxious  vehemence.  But  Hubert's 
nerves  refused  to  be  steadied.  The  shadow 
of  disgrace  was  on  him,  and  through  the 
shadow  danced  a  vivid  bewildering  phan- 
tom of  sunlit  loveliness.  He  blundered 
desperately  on,  colliding  violently  with 
his  neighbours  on  either  side,  rudely 
jostling  the  treble  as  it  attempted  to  slip 
past  him  on  its  way  home,  and  finally 

75 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

committing  the  unpardonable  sin  of  losing 
his  place  altogether.  A  course  of  bells  is 
an  intricate  dance  in  an  extremely  cir- 
cumscribed area  ;  if  one  performer  falls 
out  of  step,  the  whole  figure  is  thrown 
into  confusion.  The  orderly  circle  of 
sounds  began  to  crumble ;  ugly  gaps, 
disgraceful  dotted  notes,  marred  its  sym- 
metry in  every  direction.  The  bells  them- 
selves in  their  high  prison  became  aware 
of  the  want  of  unanimity  among  their 
masters,  and  began  at  once  to  take  sly 
liberties  ;  for  a  church  bell — as  everyone 
who  has  handled  rope  in  belfry  has  good 
reason  to  know — is  not  a  mere  mass  of 
inanimate  metal,  but  a  more  or  less 
christianized  servant  of  the  Church,  with 
a  dim  soul  and  a  very  decided  will  of  its 
own.  The  hands  of  the  Church  have 
been  laid  on  it  in  benediction  ;  nay,  in 
some  cases  it  has  actually  been  baptized 

76 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

with  all  the  proper  ceremonies  ;  and  some- 
thing of  the  old  Adam,  turbulent  and 
unruly,  has  somehow  slipped  into  it  in 
the  process.  Under  firm  control  it  is  a 
willing  and  obedient  servant  ;  but  let 
discipline  be  relaxed  ever  so  little,  and 
there  is  no  end  to  the  impish,  choir-boy 
tricks  it  will  play. 

Luckily  the  course  was  nearly  run. 
Cool  and  unruffled,  picking  out  the  least 
disorderly  moments  in  which  to  call  the 
few  remaining  changes,  Nicky  shepherded 
his  flock  back  into  the  straight,  steadied 
them  there,  and  gave  the  signal  "  Down  " 
for  the  final  quickening. 

Scarcely  had  he  given  the  terminal 
stamp  of  the  foot,  when  four  disap- 
pointed and  disgraced  old  men  turned 
looks  of  bitter  reproach  on  Hubert,  who 
stood  with  bowed  head  awaiting  the 
storm. 

77 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

But     Nicky    spoke     before     it     could 
burst. 

u  Not  a  word,  comrades,  not  a  word  ! 
The  fault's  on  two,  and  neither  one's  my 
son.  You  all  know  me — a  just  man  that 
put  the  fault  where  it  belong,  whether  'tis 
my  own  flesh  and  blood  or  no.  The  fault's 
on  two  ;  one  we  do  know,  and  t'other 
shall  be  sarched  out  before  the  sun  do 
set  upon  this  day  of  sorrow.  Say  what 
you've  a  mind  to  say  to  Billy  Bone  ;  he 
deserve  whatever  he  get.  But  as  for  the 
maid,  you  leave  her  to  me." 

"  Maid,  sayst  ?  "  piped  the  tenor  bell. 

"  Yes,  Michael.  Yes,  fellow-ringers.  A 
maid,  sure  enough.  Didn'  I  glimp'  her 
geeking  in  to  the  door  ?  Out  of  the 
corner  of  my  eye  I  glimped  her,  with  her 
outrageous  fallals  and  fancicals,  'nough  to 
put  any  young  man's  bell  off  his  balance." 

"  Maid  in  the  belfry  ?    Who  ever  heard 
78 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

tell  of  such  a  thing  ?  Stark  agin  nature, 
so  'tis." 

"Don't  know  about  that,  Michael," 
said  Mason  Tripcony.  "Take  a  twice- 
married  man's  word  for  'n,  the  females  do 
nat 'rally  belong  to  be  azackly  where  they 
don't  belong  to  be.  Well,  we've  lost  first 
prize,  that's  certain." 

"  Lost  first  prize  ! "  quoth  Roger 
Tregear.  "  'Twill  be  more'n  we  deserve 
if  we  'm  highly  condemned,  as  the  man 
said.  Who  was  the  maid,  Nicky  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I'm  going  to  sarch  out, 
if  I  do  live.  'A  was  too  quick  for  me,  the 
artful  piece,  but  I  should  know  her  agin 
by  the  colour  of  her  dress,  I  reckon." 

"  But  Hubert  here  see  her  plain  enough, 
didn'  'a  ? " 

All  eyes  were  turned  on  Hubert,  who 
flushed  and  paled  under  his  tan.  It 
appeared  from  his  evidence,  oozing  out 

79 


drop  by  drop  under  paternal  pressure,  that 
he  never  noticed  the  maid,  if  maid  she 
was,  at  all  ;  that  if  he  did,  there  was  no 
time  to  make  her  out  properly  ;  that  he 
was  sure,  by  what  he  did  see  of  her,  that 
she  was  a  stranger  to  him  ;  that  he  didn't 
remark  what  she  had  on  ;  that  he  rather 
thought  she  was  dressed  in  pink  trimmed 
up  with  white,  and  not  the  other  way 
about  ;  and  that  anyhow  the  fault  rested 
entirely  with  him,  and  what  did  it  matter 
who  the  maid  was  ? 

Nicky  frowned  suspiciously  at  this 
lucid  statement. 

"  Tell  'e  what,  comrades,"  he  said  darkly. 
"  There's  something  behind  all  this.  You 
know  me  ;  I  can  smell  out  a  roguery  in 
the  dark  so  well  as  most ;  and  if  there  an't 
no  roguery  here,  I'll  eat  my  bell-rope.  A 
cooked  job,  sure  'nough,  and  I'm  going  to 

sarch  en  out.     Ayther  'tis  somebody  got  a 

80 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

gredge  agin  us,  or  else "  He  broke  off, 

with  another  suspicious  glance  at  his  son. 
"  But  leave  en  to  me  ;  and  mind  'e — not 
a  word  of  this  outside.  Must  catch  'em 
off  their  guard,  whoever  they  be." 

"  There's  bitter  moments  waiting  for 
us  outside,"  prophesied  Michael.  "  Mr. 
Trevelyan — can't  'e  hear  en,  with  his  'Tut- 
tut,  friends  ! '  and  his  '  Honour  of  our 
dear  old  parish  '  ?  Aw,  bitter  !  " 

"  We  got  to  face  en,"  said  Nicky,  as  they 
huddled  on  their  coats.  "Best  face  en  like 
men,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  stand  or  fall 
together,  faithful  comrades  one  and  all. 
Come  along,  boys." 

Hubert  was  the  last  to  go  out.  Looking 
back,  Nicky  saw  him  before  the  little 
looking-glass  that  hung  by  the  door, 
carefully  settling  his  necktie,  anxiously 
fingering  his  chin.  Nicky  nodded  grimly. 


81 


IV 

IN  the  formula  with  which  the  old 
romancer  loosely  but  sufficiently  hooks 
chapter  on  to  rambling  chapter,  now  leave 
we  of  the  ringers  and  turn  we  unto  the 
damosel  Dorinda,  as  she  slips  away  un- 
observed from  the  fatal  door,  all  uncon- 
scious of  the  havoc  she  has  wrought. 

Like  Spenser's  bride,  she  went  on  with 
portly  pace,  and  eyes  affixed  on  the  lowly 
ground,  her  thoughts  for  once  in  a  way 
turned  inwards  and  pensively  examining  a 
new-born  fancy — emotion  I  can  hardly 
call  it  as  yet — that  waved  vague  hands  and 
fluttered  filmy  wings  somewhere  down  in 
a  corner  of  her  bosom.  It  seemed — but  I 
shrink  from  pouncing  on  this  half-uncon- 
scious baby  Cupid  and  ruthlessly  dissect- 

82 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

ing  its  tender  limbs  for  the  delectation  of 
the  gloating  multitude.  Besides,  the  most 
skilful  anatomist  of  the  female  heart 
would  find  his  knife  too  blunt  and  his 
fingers  too  clumsy  for  the  job. 

When  again  she  lifted  her  head,  she 
found  herself  walking  among  long  grass 
on  the  deserted  north  side  of  the  church. 
A  little  farther  on,  Mr.  Roscorla  sat 
solitary  on  his  chosen  tombstone.  For  the 
better  easing  of  his  thought-laden  brow, 
he  had  removed  his  hat  and  had  hung  it 
on  the  knobby  head  of  his  walking-stick, 
which  leaned  against  the  stone  beside  him 
and  appeared  to  be  whispering  dark  secrets 
in  his  attentive  ear.  He  saw  Dorinda 
approaching,  and  straightway  set  a  match 
to  a  welcoming  smile,  which,  kindling  by 
degrees,  reached  its  full  effulgence  as  she 
paused  in  front  of  him.  She  smiled  back, 

and  appeared  to  expect  a  remark.     Well, 
G  2  83 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

he  had  one  ready  on  his  tongue — a  tried 
and  approved  remark. 

"  Fine  growing  weather  for  the  craps," 
said  he,  and  smiled  and  smiled,  confidently 
expectant  of  the  prescribed  and  tested 
retort.  But  Dorinda  only  set  a  merry 
laugh  running  up  the  wild  bird's  gamut, 
and  so  tripped  away  and  left  him  with- 
out a  word.  He  gazed  after  her,  inwardly 
puzzled,  and  disappointed  not  a  little, 
though  his  outward  expression  was  un- 
changed. A  smile  like  that,  built  up  (to 
vary  my  similitude)  with  such  laborious 
care,  is  not  to  be  hurriedly  demolished  in 
a  moment,  like  a  triumphal  arch  as  soon 
as  the  royal  guest  has  passed  through.  It 
remained  fixed  while  he  watched  her  out 
of  sight.  Even  then  it  stood  a  while  for- 
gotten, what  time  he  obscurely  ruminated 
on  the  incalculable  feminine,  until  the 
stretched  and  stiffened  muscles  signalled 

84 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

for  relief,  and  garland  by  garland,  timber 
by  timber,  the  festal  structure  was  de- 
molished, and  the  ploughed  field  resumed 
its  normal  aspect. 

Dorinda  stood  once  more  in  the  street, 
uncertain  of  her  direction.  But  what  did 
it  matter  ?  Wherever  she  went,  she  was 
sure  of  admiring  glances  and  approving 
smiles,  and  (best  of  all)  envious,  would-be 
scornful  sniffs.  It  was  her  seventeenth 
birthday,  and  the  feast  was  being  held 
in  her  honour,  and  the  sun  had  engaged 
himself  to  stay  up  to  the  latest  possible 
moment,  expressly  for  her  sake. 

As  she  danced  down  the  street,  she 
fancied  she  heard  her  mother's  voice 
within  an  open  doorway.  She  drew  near 
and  looked,  and  there,  sure  enough,  was 
Mrs.  Varco  enjoying  the  hospitality  of 
Mrs.  Pedrick's  kitchen. 

If  Mrs.  Varco  was  large,  Mrs.  Pedrick 
85 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

was  enormous — a  mere  chaos  of  inter- 
secting globes  ;  her  eyes  and  nose  and 
mouth  were  little  round  sofa-buttons  in 
the  luxurious  crimson  upholstery  of  her 
cheeks,  her  apron-strings  an  equatorial 
line  about  a  purely  theoretical  waist.  But 
while  Mrs.  Varco's  easy  soul  lolled  com- 
fortably among  its  fleshly  cushions,  Mrs. 
Pedrick's  active  spirit  bustled  about  its 
monstrous  tabernacle,  a  bumble-bee  in  a 
many-domed  conservatory.  Side  by  side 
they  sat,  these  jolly  dames,  and  rolled 
together,  exchanging  confidences,  and 
rolled  apart,  quivering  and  bobbing,  for 
all  the  world  like  two  toy  balloons  on 
one  string. 

"  And  who  may  this  fitty  maid  be  ? " 
inquired  Mrs.  Pedrick  good-humouredly. 

"  Why,  'tis  Dorinda !  Step  inside, 
cheeld,  and  taste  of  Mis'  Pedrick's  saffern 

cake." 

86 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


"  Ess,  step  inside,  my  dear.  No  charge 
to  see  the  fat  woman.  Take  a  chair  and 
a  slice,  then,  while  I  look  'e  over.  Ess,  a 
fitty  maid,  and  do  your  ma  credit.  She 
was  just  such  another,  five-and-twenty 
year  ago  ;  so  was  I,  though  you  mightn' 
think  it.  And  here  I  sit  for  slender  maids 
to  take  warning  by,  a  reg'lar  old  skelinton 
at  the  feast — ho-ho  !  But  I  an't  complain- 
ing. Keeps  us  out  of  a  lot  o'  mischief, 
don't  'a,  Tamsine  ?  To  think  of  the 
pranks  we  might  be  up  to,  and  our 
husbands  out  of  sight,  if  only  we  wadn' 
afraid  of  melting  away  like  tallow-candles 
in  the  sun,  and  back  come  our  men,  and 
1  Where's  my  woman  ? '  and  '  Where's 
mine  ? ' — and  the  neighbours  a-p'inting 
mournful  to  two  cages  of  bones  in  a 
puddle  of  grease,  middle  of  the  road — ho- 
ho  !" 

If  Dorinda's  polite  laughter  was  a  little 
87 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

forced,  who  can  blame  her  ?  A  vulgar 
old  woman,  to  be  sure  ;  and  what  a 
tedious  subject  to  make  a  jest  of  !  Given 
a  preposterously  stout  parent,  even  slender 
seventeen  cannot  refrain  from  uneasy 
speculations  on  the  problem  of  heredity. 

"  Seeming  to  me,  though,"  said  Mrs. 
Varco,  "  you  do  get  about  a  brave  lot 
more  than  what  I  do,  Mary.  Mis' 
Pedrick  have  just  come  home  from 
London,  Dorinda  —  been  to  see  the 
sights." 

"  See  the  sights  ! — yes,  and  a  wisht  job 
I  had  seeing  of  'em  too,  I  can  tell  'e. 
Wherever  they  took  me,  'twas  the  same — 
Waxworks,  Tower  of  London,  Crystal 
Palace,  I  stuck  in  the  turnstile  every  time, 
and  no  getting  of  me  for'ard  or  back'ard. 
And  Pedrick  a-shoving,  and  the  p'liceman 
a-hauling,  and  the  people  standing  round 

laughing  and  cheering — la  !  what  fun  we 

88 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

did  have,  to  be  sure  !  Sights  !  I  was  the 
principal  sight  myself,  b'lieve  !  " 

Dorinda  smiled  constrainedly,  and 
fidgeted  on  her  seat.  A  most  indelicate 
circumstance,  with  nothing  funny  about 
it  that  she  could  see.  Mrs.  Pedrick's 
sharp,  good-natured  eyes  noted  the  signs 
of  impatience. 

"  Finished  up  your  cake,  my  dear  ? 
Dagging  to  be  off,  shouldn't  be  frightened. 
Off  with  'e  then,  fitty  maid,  so  soon  's 
you've  a  mind  to.  Didn'  come  up  to  do 
the  polite  to  fat  old  women,  did  'e  ? ' 
Found  a  chap  yet  ?  " 

"  Maybe  I  have,  maybe  I  haven't,"  said 
Dorinda,  more  pertly,  I  am  constrained  to 
admit,  than  befits  a  heroine. 

"  Well,  no  time  like  feast-time  for  that. 
Maids'  harvest,  I  call  en.  I  catched  mine 
'pon  a  feast-day,  and  so  did  your  ma  here. 
Same  day  too  ;  wadn'  'a,  Tamsine  ?  Do  'e 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

mind  how  I  took  up  with  Dickon  first 
go-off,  and  you  with  Pedrick,  till  we  got 
to  the  stile-path  going  home,  and  then 
we  chopped  by  way  of  a  joke,  you  taking 
my  chap  and  me  taking  yourn  ?  'Twadn' 
much  of  a  joke  to  begin  with,  b'lieve,  but 
la  !  how  it  have  lasted  !  Hey,  Tamsine  ?  " 

Chuckling  hugely,  they  fell  on  each 
other  with  ponderous  slaps  and  digs. 
Dorinda  curled  her  lip  and  moved  to  the 
door. 

"  Dickon  didn'  like  it  at  all  to  begin 
with,"  said  Mrs.  Varco. 

"  Same  for  Pedrick.  No  mouth-speech, 
and  glimping  behind  every  minute  to  see 
what  you  'uns  were  up  to.  But  'a  squeezed 
my  waist  out  of  politeness,  like,  getting 
over  the  first  stile,  and  then  I  managed 
him  so  well  that  I  got  en  to  kiss  me  agin 
my  will,  top  of  the  second.  And  there 

'tis.     You  spin  'pon  your  heel  for  light- 
90 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

someness,  or  you  geek  through  a  door  for 
mischief,  and — c  There's  your  life-road,  ' 
says  Providence,  and  no  turning  round  for 
ever  afterwards.  So  mind  how  you  step, 
my  dear." 

Dorinda  tittered  nervously.  Who  or 
what  had  inspired  this  voluble  fat  old 
thing  to  speak  in  the  same  breath  of  doors 
and  destinies  ?  She  scorned  to  be  super- 
stitious, but  when  blindfolded  Chance  ham- 
mers a  little  out-of-the-way  nail  plumb  on 
the  head,  it  is  a  token  not  to  be  despised. 

"  But  la  !  Tamsine,"  continued  Mrs. 
Pedrick.  "  If  only  our  men  could  ha' 
seen  us  then  like  what  we  are  now  ! 
Old  Providence  'ud  ha'  been  properly 
took  in,  I  reckon  !  Now  there's  my  daugh- 
ter Ellen  ;  she  know  her  way  about,  b'lieve. 
Catched  her  man  somewhere  up  the 
country — never  brought  en  down  to  be 
introduced,  nor  never  let  en  set  eyes  'pon 
91 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

me,  not  till  the  banns  were  up,  and  no 
chance  for  a  hon'rable  chap  to  back  out. 
But  'a  took  it  very  well  when  'a  did  see 
me,  I  will  say  that  for  him  ;  so  quiet  as  a 
lamb  'a  took  it,  and  never  turned  a  hair, 
though  I  couldn'  help  rallying  of  him 
a  bit. 

"  c  There  an't  no  bounds  to  my  affection 
for  Ellen,'  'a  said  to  me,  in  a  voice  like 
milk-and-water  with  a  drop  of  gin  into  it. 
So  I  said  :  c  Just  as  well,'  I  said ;  '  if  she's 
going  to  turn  after  her  ma  you'll  want 
some  elbow-room  later  on,'  I  said.  So 
he  said  :  '  As  the  years  do  pass,  so  my 
love  shall  grow,'  'a  said.  c  Shouldn'  be 
frightened  if  she  did,'  I  said.  '  Hold 
tongue,  mother,'  says  Ellen.  c  I  didn' 
name  it  that,  way,'  he  said  ;  '  though  if  so 
be  I  did,  what's  a  few  score  extry  pounds 
to  a  love  like  mine  ?  Can't  have  too 

much  of  a  good  thing,  b'lieve,'  says  he, 

92 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

goggling  'pon  Ellen,  fond-like.  '  Silly 
fool  !  '  says  Ellen,  looking  like  she  wanted 
to  stick  a  knife  into  both  of  us.  But  la ! 
— must  have  my  joke,  b'lieve,  or  I'd  be 
wasting  away,  as  Aunt  Maria  said  for 
the  soap,  Monday  arternoon.  Laugh  and 
grow  fat — hey,  Tamsine  ?  " 

Again  they  wallowed  together,  exchang- 
ing thumps  and  nudges,  while  Dorinda, 
properly  disgusted,  slipped  away  without 
a  formal  farewell. 

Whither  now  ?  What  had  become  of 
her  late  companions  ?  Here  came  one  of 
them — Laura  Pengelly,  sure  enough,  with 
Harry  Laity  in  tow.  She  hadn't  been 
wasting  her  time,  seemingly. 

As  they  approached,  Harry  stared  hard 
at  Dorinda,  and  whispered  to  Laura,  who 
answered  with  a  short  word  and  a  tost  head. 
Harry  still  stared,  and  seemed  inclined  to 
slacken  pace.  Laura  clutched  his  elbow 

93 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

and  hustled  him  by,  with  a  distant  patro- 
nizing nod  to  Dorinda  in  passing.  And  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  ago  they  were  twining 
arms  and  waists,  and  on  the  point  of 
swearing  eternal  friendship  !  A  hollow 
world,  to  be  sure  !  As  if  she  were  likely 
to  grudge  a  fellow  like  Harry  to  a  girl 
like  Laura  !  As  soon  would  she  take  up 
with  poor  half-baked  Jack  there,  tacking 
up  the  street  with  his  ragged  coat-tails 
flying  and  the  lining  of  his  battered  pilot- 
cap  hanging  jauntily  out  on  one  side  for 
bravery.  It  wasn't  everybody,  either, 
that  Jack  would  favour  with  his  company 
and  conversation.  Jack  was  noted  as  a 
discriminating  admirer  of  the  sex,  with  as 
keen  an  eye  for  a  pretty  face  as  any  one. 
To  number  him  among  one's  cavaliers 
was  a  positive  distinction. 

"  Oh,  Jack  !  "  she  called  sweetly. 

Jack  stopped,  dodged,  and  began  to 
94 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

sidle  round  by  the  gutter.  Politeness 
showed  a  gap-toothed  grin,  but  suspicion 
clouded  his  little  wandering  eyes. 

"  Nicely  thank'ee  hope  all  well  home 
fine  day  good  arternoon,"  he  remarked 
with  telegraphic  conciseness  and  despatch, 
and  dodged  to  the  other  side  of  the  road. 

"  Where  going  in  such  a  hurry,  Jack  ?  " 
she  cooed,  squandering  one  of  her  best 
smiles  as  she  followed  him.  "  Can't  'e 
stop  and  chat  with  a  poor  lonely  maid  ? 
What's  that  you  got  in  your  hand  there  ? 
Something  for  me,  I'll  be  bound." 

Jack  whipped  his  clenched  fist  behind 
him.  "  Leave  me  pass,  and  I'll  tell  'e,"  he 
growled,  and  made  a  sudden  ungainly  rush 
which  brought  him  safely  beyond  her. 
"  What  I  got  in  my  hand  ?  "  he  cackled 
triumphantly  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
ambled  away.  "  Got  a  ha'penny  in  my 
hand  !  Where  going  ?  Going  to  put  en 

95 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

away  safe  before  one  o'  these  poor  lonely 
maids  do  get  hold  o'  me  !  " 

"  Had  'e  there,"  said  a  voice  at  Dorinda's 
elbow.  She  whirled  about,  and  found 
herself  in  the  presence  of  four  old  men, 
who  stood  in  a  row  across  the  road,  leaning 
on  their  sticks  and  gravely  contemplating 
her,  like  so  many  owls  on  a  rafter. 

"  Had  'e  there,  b'lieve,"  repeated  the 
spokesman.  "  There's  some  do  call  Jack 
a  fool,  but  he  know  a  thing  or  two  after 
that,  if  you'll  believe  a  twice-married  man, 
who've  tried  buttons  to  his  pockets,  and 
stockings  up  the  chimley,  and  savings- 
banks,  and  look  to  die  fourpence  in  debt 
after  all.  Ess,  there's  bigger  fools  than 
Jack  going  around  with  money  in  their 
fistes.  Try  agin,  my  dear,  and  better 
luck  next  time." 

Insufferable  old  man  !  If  a  glance  could 

kill,  he  would  never  pull  bell-rope  again. 

96 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

With  skirts  drawn  away  from  degrading 
contact,  she  swept  through  the  line.  It 
closed  up  behind  her,  and  four  sets  of  grey 
whiskers  wagged  in  a  whispered  colloquy. 

"  White  trimmed  up  with  pink  ! 
That's  the  maid — that's  of  her  !  " 

"  Where's  Nicky  to  ?  Must  leave  him 
know  to  once." 

"  Varco's  maid,  edn'  'a  ?  A  dashy, 
impident  piece,  by  the  looks  of  her  ;  know 
all  the  roguery  there  is,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  Keep  an  eye  'pon  her,  some  of  'e. 
Fll  go  see  for  Nicky." 

But  Dorinda,  her  feet  winged  with 
indignation,  was  already  out  of  sight. 
When  the  devoted  chronicler  and  (I  hope) 
not  unreluctant  reader  catch  her  up,  she 
is  entering  the  glebe  meadow,  where  the 
band  is  now  doing  remorseless  execution 
on  a  pot-pourri  of  hymn  tunes,  while 

at  the  farther  end  the  sports  committee 
H  97 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

marshals  the  competitors  in  a  blindfold 
wheelbarrow  race.  There  is  a  tidy  sprink- 
ling of  folk  about,  but  the  meadow  is  of 
large  extent,  and  when  once  Dorinda  has 
slipped  through  the  crowd  by  the  gate 
she  is  able  to  indulge  her  present  desire 
for  solitude.  As  she  wanders  lonely  by 
the  hedge,  I  mark  the  pout  of  her  lips 
and  the  moody  bent  of  her  brow  ;  and 
anxiously,  but  hopefully,  I  note  that  a 
divine  discontent  is  working  within  her. 
The  finer  fibres  of  her  nature  are  awake 
and  stirring  ;  small  wonder  if  she  finds 
herself  temporarily  at  odds  with  this  gross 
world  of  obese  old  women,  and  cynical 
old  men,  and  suspicious  fools,  and  faithless 
friends.  It  is  only  temporarily,  I  promise 
you.  Elastic  youth  soon  readjusts  itself 
to  its  environment. 

Suddenly  a  warning  shout  was   raised, 
and    down    the   field,    at    first  in  parallel 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

lines,    but     soon     diverging,    concurring, 
crossing,  colliding,  like  fortuitous    atoms 
of    a    world    in    the    making,  rushed  the 
blindfold  barrow-trundlers  with  their  help- 
less   human    burdens.     Women    shrieked 
and  brave  men  fled,  while  the  sports  com- 
mittee   ran    to    and    fro,  waving   ineffec- 
tual arms  and  shouting  futile  injunctions, 
like   bungling  magicians  who  had  rashly 
decanted  a  whole  binful  of  bottled  genii. 
The  band,  threatened  by  an  earnest  and 
bulky     competitor     with     a     particularly 
massive    barrow,  faltered,  broke  off,  and 
scattered  in  all  directions.     So  the  peaceful 
and    melodious    denizens    of    the  African 
forest  scatter   before  the   mad  onrush    of 
a   hunted    elephant  ;    and    as   the   frantic 
pachyderm    crashes   through    a    copse    of 
young    trees,    and    leaves    behind    him    a 
pathway  strewn  with  splintered  and  up- 
rooted   saplings,    even  so  driver,  vehicle, 
H  2  99 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

and  wild-bellowing  passenger  plunged 
among  the  spindly  music-stands,  brought 
them  clattering  to  the  ground, and  pounded 
on,  unscathed  and  unheeding. 

Dorinda,  observing  the  scene  with  a 
tristful  smile,  was  suddenly  aware  of 
another  blind  emissary  of  fate  tilting 
straight  towards  her.  With  a  shriek  she 
dodged,  taking  shelter  behind  a  wild-rose 
thicket,  and  so  came  upon  Charles  Edward. 

Pale,  pensive,  embowered  in  roses, 
Charles  Edward  reclined  on  the  velvet 
sward,  the  pattern  of  a  love-sick  shepherd 
swain  in  a  pastoral.  Beside  him  on  the 
turf,  where  crook  and  flageolet  should 
have  been,  lay  a  paper  bag  half  full  of 
pear-drops,  a  box  of  matches,  a  new  briar 
pipe,  and  a  packet  of  Old  Salt  mixture — 
not  the  mild  effeminate  quality  in  the  green 
wrapper,  but  the  full  and  nutty  brand  with 
the  orange  label.  Disillusioned,  heart- 


100 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

sore,  world-weary,  Charles  Edward  had 
been  seeking  oblivion  in  reckless  dissipa- 
tion, and  had  learned  already  that  when 
you  take  your  passions  to  market,  woe  for 
woe  is  the  only  barter. 

On  Dorinda' s  appearance  he  sat  up,  took 
his  pipe,  lit  a  match,  thrust  a  momentary 
weakness  from  him,  and  resolutely  sucked 
the  flame  in,  watching  Dorinda  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye.  Dorinda  said  nothing, 
but  stood  regarding  him  with  a  faint  smile, 
which  might  mean  anything  else,  but 
certainly  did  not  mean  admiration.  Yet 
it  is  fabled  that  the  quality  of  qualities  to 
attract  a  woman  in  a  man  is  manliness. 
Charles  Edward  ground  his  teeth  into 
the  vulcanite,  and  puffed  on.  The  damp 
tobacco,  inexpertly  kindled,  burned  with 
a  subterranean  fire,  spitting  and  sparkling 
like  saltpetre,  and  tasting  nearly  as  nasty. 
Charles  Edward  doggedly  puffed  on. 

JOI 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Dorinda  noted  his  increasing  pallor  with 
mingled  pity  and  alarm.  She  wrinkled 
her  pretty  nose,  and  remarked  to  the  roses 
that  no  gentleman  would  think  of  smoking 
in  a  lady's  presence  without  permission 
asked  and  accorded.  Outwardly  impassive, 
inwardly  grateful,  he  risked  one  more  puff 
out  of  bravado,  and  set  the  pipe  down. 
Dorinda  sank  gracefully  beside  him. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said. 

Charles  Edward  grunted.  At  that 
moment  he  did  not  wish  to  open  his 
mouth  in  speech. 

"  Ben't  you  going  to  offer  me  one  little 
sweetie  ?  " 

He  pushed  the  bag  towards  her.  She 
helped  herself  and  held  it  out  for  him  to 
do  the  same.  He  waved  it  away  with  a 
shudder. 

"  You  can  have  the  lot/'  he  mumbled, 

cautiously  sliding  the    words    out.      She 
102 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

thanked  him  sweetly,  and  sat  thoughtfully 
munching.  Her  brief  experience  of 
womanhood  had  not  been  deliriously 
satisfying.  It  was  good  to  be  a  child 
again  for  a  while,  with  her  childhood's 
companion  by  her  side  to  coax  or  tease  at 
pleasure. 

Charles  Edward,  feeling  a  little  better, 
glanced   round,   caught   her   smiling   eye, 
and   made  answer   with   a  sheepish  grin. 
They  began  to  talk  confidentially  as  of  yore. 
"  Where  been  all  this  time,  Charlie  ? " 
"  Aw,  diddling  around,  ;a  b'lieve." 
"  You  were  in  a  terrible  hurry  to  be  off, 
I  seem.     Might  have  waited  for  your  old 
chum,  I  think." 

"  Might  so  well  have  stayed  home  alto- 
gether," he  replied  morosely.  "  Tell  'e 
what  'tis — Render  Feast  an't  what  it's 
cracked  up  to  be.  It's  gone  in  consider- 
able since  I  was  a  little  tagger." 
103 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Dorinda  agreed  with  a  sigh.  A  fellow- 
feeling  brought  her  cuddling  closer  to  her 
companion.  His  spirits  rose.  He  ran  a 
carelessly  ostentatious  finger  round  between 
his  collar  and  his  neck,  and  ventured  on  a 
regular  grown-up  compliment. 

"  How  nice  your  hair  do  look, 
Dorinda  !  " 

She  laughed  contentedly.  If  Charles 
Edward  could  talk  like  that,  he  deserved 
encouragement. 

"  Shall  I  tell  'e  a  secret,  Charlie  ?  I've 
got  thirty-five  hairpins  into  'n,  and  I  do 
feel  so  awful  complicated  up  top.  Can't 
see  some  sticking  out,  can  'e  ?  " 

The  back  of  her  head  was  offered  to 
his  inspection.  There  was  a  minikin  ear 
lodged  in  a  coil  of  hair — a  delicate  rosy 
shell  in  a  lock  of  gleaming  brown  sea- 
weed. The  creamy  nuddick — nape  you 

would    call    it — sun-visited   for    the    first 
104 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

time  to-day,  was  set  about  with  darling 
tendrils,  curled  trammels,  feathery  lures, 
pisky  springes  to  entangle  hearts  in. 
Above,  a  great  shining  wave  billowed  out 
and  curved  back  into  the  shadow  of  the 
hat.  Some  women's  heads  of  hair  are 
no  better  than  mere  inanimate  wigs  ; 
some  have  the  dim  imperfect  vitality  of 
plants  ;  but  some — and  Dorinda's  was  of 
these — thrill  with  life  to  the  tips  of  every 
strand.  They  are  electric,  serpentine, 
mysterious,  and  exhale  that  subtle  odour 
of  the  sea  which  clings  for  ever  to  the 
tresses  of  the  sea-born  goddess. 

Charles  Edward  wove  no  fancies  half 
so  fine  as  these,  which  have  mainly  been 
conveyed  from  the  poets.  Deep  emotions 
do  not  dally  with  elegant  conceits,  and 
Charles  Edward's  emotions  were  positively 
abysmal. 

"There's  one  '11  be  dropping  out  directly, 
105 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

if  you  don't  push  him  in,"  he  said 
hoarsely. 

"  Push  him  in  for  me,  will  'e  ?  "  said 
she,  inclining  towards  him  with  a  sweet 
abandonment. 

He  advanced  a  trembling  finger  and 
did  the  sacred  office.  Who  would  have 
thought  that  the  mere  touch  of  those 
gossamer  tresses  could  so  thrill  and  sting  ? 
His  smouldering  passion  burst  into  sudden 
flame. 

"  Aw,  Dorinda  !  "  he  cried. 

She  flashed  a  quizzical  glance. 

"  Well,  what  is  'a  ?  Took  bad  again, 
are  'e  ?  "  she  asked  mockingly. 

The  drenched  flame  expired  in  a  choking 
smother.  What  was  the  use  ?  He  was 
a  worm,  and  an  immature  worm  at  that. 
Let  him  live  the  fastest  of  lives  and  smoke 
the  strongest  of  weeds,  he  could  never 

lessen  the  distance  that  inexorable  Time 

1 06 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

had  set  between  them.  If  only  those 
long-deceased  parents  of  his  had  had  the 
sense  and  enterprise  to  get  married  a  few 
years  sooner  !  He  groaned  and  turned  his 
head  away.  Dorinda  was  stirred  with 
compassion. 

"  Silly  boy  ! "  she  said,  tenderly  con- 
descending. "  Don't  be  so  foolish  as  you 
are.  I'm  brave  and  fond  of  'e,  you  know 
that  ;  but  you're  only  a  boy  after  all,  and 
— well,  there  'tis,  you  see." 

He  nodded  hopelessly. 

"  I'll  always  be  a  sister  to  'e,  like,"  she 
added,  with  a  felicitous  reminiscence  of 
Lady  Enid  Tremayne  in  the  latest  issue 
of  her  favourite  penny  story-budget. 

"  Sister  be  darned  !  "  he  exploded,  un- 
consciously echoing  the  furious  moustache- 
gnawing  Sir  Jasper  Maltravers  in  the 
same  crimson-covered  record  of  crime  and 

passion. 

107 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  Now,  Charlie  dear, "  she  coaxed, 
"  don't  'e  be  so  teasy  with  your  old  chum. 
Friendship's  better  than  courtship,  so 
they  say." 

With  a  violent  gesture  he  expressed  his 
utter  disagreement  with  the  proverbial 
wisdom  of  the  ages,  which  indeed  has  few 
attractions  for  youth  at  any  time. 

"  Look  now,  Charlie  :  I  haven'  paid 
'e  for  those  sweeties,  nor  I  didn'  mean  to  ; 
but  I  will — there  !  Only  mind — 'tis  the 
last  time  of  all,  and  no  more  nonsense 
after  this.  Promise,  will  'e  ?  ' 

Her  face  was  very  near,  with  its  lips 
like  a  folded  clover-leaf  for  shape  and  a 
red  clover-blossom  for  colour  and  sweet- 
ness ;  with  its  nose  in  the  least  degree 
tip-tilted — the  kind  that  reminds  your 
great  poet  of  the  petal  of  a  flower,  and 
your  humble  prose-writer  of  a  little,  im- 
pudent, graceful,  cock-tailed  wren  ;  with 
1 08 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


its  eyes  like  glimpses  of  a  sunlit  autumnal 
wood,  all  brown  until  you  gazed  into 
them,  when  you  found  them  streaked 
with  the  red  of  dying  beech  leaves  and 
the  green  of  fresh  herbage  and  the  grey 
of  ash-trunks,  and  specked  all  over  with 
points  of  dancing  gold  ;  and  you  look 
deeper  and  deeper,  and  still  the  laughing 
Dryad  retreats  before  you  down  avenues 
of  colour. 

"  Promise,  "  she  repeated.  Unrequited 
calf-love  resembles  the  stomach-ache  :  no 
pangs  are  fiercer  or  more  deeply  seated, 
yet  they  have  never  been  accounted  a  fit 
subject  for  the  tragic  muse.  It  would 
take  a  whole  treatise  on  aesthetics  to  ex- 
plain why,  with  the  best  will  and  keenest 
sympathy  in  the  world,  I  am  unable  to 
purge  you,  according  to  the  ancient 
Greek  prescription,  with  pity  and  terror, 

by  exhibiting  Charles  Edward's  flat,  round, 
109 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

chubby  face  all  drawn  and  distorted,  his 
eyes  agoggle,  his  mouth  agape,  his  bosom 
a  bear-garden  of  mutinous  longings  and 
tumultuous  despairs.  Pity  that  it  should 
be  so,  since  I  foresee  that  never  again  in 
the  course  of  this  narrative  shall  we  climb 
so  near  the  topmost  heights  of  passionate 
tragedy. 

"  Promise,"  she  said  for  the  third  time, 
and  set  her  lips  in  the  sweetest  of  all 
shapes.  Hard,  cruel  hard  as  her  terms 
were,  what  could  mortal  youth  do  but 
yield  ?  He  made  the  signal  of  surrender 
by  unaffectedly  drawing  the  back  of  his 
hand  across  his  mouth.  A  moment  later, 
he  was  alone,  and  the  world  was  a  void, 
save  for  the  vanishing  after-taste  of  a 
smacking,  all-too-sisterly  kiss. 


no 


V 

RELUCTANTLY  loosing  my  hold  for  the 
moment  on  Dorinda's  skirts,  I  invite  you 
to  accompany  me  through  the  crowd 
in  search  of  Hubert.  You  hang  back, 
madam,  drawing  together  your  silken 
skirts  and  shaking  out  the  folds  of  your 
perfumed  handkerchief  ?  I  assure  you 
there  is  no  cause  for  alarm,  no  reason  to 
fear  the  least  offence  to  any  of  your  five 
most  dainty  senses.  In  all  rural  England 
you  will  find  no  crowd  to  compare  with  a 
crowd  of  Cornish  merrymakers  for  sweet- 
ness and  neatness,  good  looks  and  good 
humour,  courtesy  of  behaviour  and  refine- 
ment of  speech.  Dear  Cornish  folk  ! 
when  I  dwelt  among  you,  the  dull  literal 
Saxon  in  me  may  at  times  have  taken 


in 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

offence  at  certain — sinuosities,  shall  I  call 
them  ? — of  your  temperament.  Or  shall 
I  put  it  that  our  English  scale  of  virtues 
has  been  differently  tuned  and  adjusted 
from  yours,  so  that  now  and  again  a  note 
would  jar,  just  as  the  notes  of  a  bagpipe, 
"  now  delicately  flat,  now  sweetly  sharp," 
are  apt  to  jar  on  Southron  ears  when  heard 
close  at  hand  ?  But  now,  at  a  distance 
of  three  hundred  miles  and  thrice  three 
hundred  days,  how  tunable  those  very 
discords  appear — how  delightful  those 
fanciful  dallyings  with  facts,  those  deli- 
cate tricks  and  evasions  that  go  on  in  the 
Celtic  twilight  about  the  marble  feet  of 
the  stern  Rectitudes  !  And  how  your 
manners  shine  !  Who  so  careful  of  the 
outward  forms  of  life — the  garments  in 
which  you  present  your  souls  and  bodies 
to  the  world  ?  Who  so  sedulous  to  avoid 
the  rude  and  rugged  aspect  of  things,  to 


112 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

trim  and  reverse  the  shabby  gown,  to 
mitigate  the  harsh  statement,  and  at  all 
times,  in  your  own  favourite  phrase,  to 
turn  the  best  side  towards  London. 
Where  else  can  a  man  frequent  the  com- 
pany of  men,  and  never  hear  an  unseemly 
word,  or  any  but  the  most  harmless  and 
ornamental  of  oaths  ?  Who  could  attain 
a  nicer  balance  of  affability  and  reserve 
in  casual  intercourse  with  the  foreigner  ? 
How  musical  that  soft  brogue  of  yours, 
with  its  unlooked-for  stresses  and  song-like 
inflexions  !  Your  wits,  how  nimble  in 
discourse  !  Your  hands  and  features,  how 
lively  in  narrative  !  Your  feelings,  how  in- 
stantly responsive  to  the  call  for  laughter 
or  tears  ! — so  that  life  among  you  is  real 
with  the  emphasized  and  heightened  real- 
ity of  a  stage-play  in  the  hands  of  skilful 
actors  who  never  miss  their  cues  or  bungle 

their  points.      Dear,  courteous,  hospitable, 
i  113 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

sensitive  folk,  farmers  of  St.  Hender  and 
Langarrock,  fishers  of  Pendennack  and 
Porthvean  and  Tregurda,  if  ever  I  write  a 
word  in  depreciation — or  what  you  find 
hardest  to  pardon,  in  ridicule — of  you  and 
your  ways,  may  I  never  again  hear  the 
dulcet  voices  of  Down  Along,  or  taste  its 
ambrosial  cream  and  aromatic  saffron 
buns  ;  or,  on  its  cliffs  in  March,  feast  my 
eyes  on  the  snow  and  fire  of  blackthorn 
and  gorse  against  the  deep  blue  sea  and 
bright  blue  sky;  or  in  summer  breathe 
the  salt-sweet  harmony  of  oar-weed  and 
heather-bloom  ;  or  feel  in  autumn  the 
soft  prickling  caress  of  Atlantic  rains 
upon  my  face. 

We  will  not  linger  in  the  meadow  to 
watch  the  sports  committee  passionately 
arguing  out  its  latest  award,  man  to  man, 
with  the  unsuccessful  competitors,  nor  even 

to  hear  the  redintegrated  band  condescend- 
114 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


ing  to  a  purely  secular  polka,  which  it 
renders  with  all  the  unction  and,  so  to 
speak,  plantigrade  sprightliness  of  a  Baptist 
minister  giving  a  humorous  recitation  at  a 
penny  reading.  Passing  out  at  the  gate, 
we  retrace  our  steps  a  few  yards  to  the 
central  square  or  piazza  of  the  village, 
where  the  churchyard,  the  chapel,  the 
school  and  the  shop  abut  on  the  widened 
street.  Here  for  the  time  the  crowd  is 
thickest ;  a  fact  which  you  may  connect 
with  the  stir  that  is  going  on  about  the 
schoolroom  door.  Tea  is  preparing,  and 
the  accommodation  is  limited ;  it  is  advan- 
tageous to  be  among  the  first  batch  of 
feasters,  and  so  secure  a  share  in  the  first 
brewage  of  the  pot  and  the  first  pick  of 
the  choicer  cates  and  dainties.  I  look  in 
vain  for  Hubert  ;  but  if  you  are  in  no 
hurry  to  find  him,  neither  am  I.  Pro- 
bably he  is  moping  in  some  retired  corner; 
1 2  115 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

and  if  I  hunted  him  out,  I  should  have 
no  choice  but  to  do  my  duty  and  make 
a  conscientious  analysis  of  his  confused 
and  tattered  emotions  —  an  occupation 
about  as  profitable  and  entertaining  as 
turning  over  a  rag-bag.  He  is  sure  to 
pass  this  way  before  long  ;  meanwhile  we 
will  wait  and  watch  the  crowd. 

To  one  figure  there,  conspicuous  in 
uniform,  I  cannot  refrain  from  drawing 
your  attention,  although  it  is  of  one  who, 
I  trust,  will  have  no  part  to  play  in  this 
blameless  narrative.  Yonder  he  stands  on 
the  chapel  steps,  a  note-book  in  his  hand, 
a  furrow  in  his  brow,  his  keen  glance 
taking  in  every  changing  aspect  of  the 
scene — a  sight  to  stir  uneasy  ripples  on 
the  calmest  conscience,  were  it  not  an 
open  secret  that  the  note-book  is  not  the 
official  one.  In  him  you  see  not  merely 

the  policeman  but  the  journalist  as  well — 

116 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  Our  Own  Correspondent,"  in  fact,  to 
The  St.  Kenna  Mercury,  for  St.  Render, 
Porthmellan,  and  the  surrounding  districts. 
That  frown  portends  nothing  more  alarm- 
ing than  an  anxious  search  after  the  right 
bit  of  journalese,  which  he  pursues  with 
the  same  patient  ardour  that  no  doubt 
he  would  expend  on  the  detection  of  a 
criminal,  were  a  criminal  forthcoming. 
No  stylist  ever  pondered  more  lovingly  over 
the  mot  juste  than  he  over  those  precious 
cliches  which  he  marks  with  a  cross  for 
future  reference  when  he  meets  them  in 
the  columns  written  by  his  professional 
brethren.  Even  as  we  watch  him,  his  lips 
move,  his  face  clears,  and  he  hurriedly  jots 
down  some  dear  phrase.  Is  it  "  gay  and 
festive  scene/'  or  "  elite  of  the  vicinity,"  or, 
with  an  ear  to  the  distant  band,  "  adequate 
rendition,"  or,  with  an  eye  to  the  welkin, 

"  Sol  in  all  his  glory  "  ?     I  know  not,  but 
117 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

the  world  will  know  next  week.  This  I 
know,  that  the  proudest,  most  thrilling 
moment  of  a  life  not  unhonoured  by  the 
commendation  of  superintendents,  was 
when,  while  watching  a  carnival  proces- 
sion, masked,  torch-lit,  brass-banded,  the 
phrase  "phantasmagorical  pandemonium" 
flashed  across  his  brain  ;  and  what  veteran 
penny-a-liner  ever  bagged  a  plumper  brace 
of  winged  words  ?  I  wave  a  respectful 
and  cordial  salute  to  a  fellow-craftsman, 
and  so  leave  him. 

Did  you  ever  set  eyes  on  a  better-looking 
crowd  ?  Your  most  diligent  search  will 
hardly  discover  three  snubbed  or  shapeless 
noses,  or  two  underhung  chins,  or  one 
tom-cat  forehead.  The  children  wear  the 
solemn  loveliness  of  spring  flowers  ;  the 
matrons  are  as  comely  as  autumn  itself  ; 
of  the  maidens  I  will  not  trust  myself  to 

speak.     If  physiognomy  goes  for  anything, 
118 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

then  most  of  the  elder  men  have  missed 
their  vocations.  Here  you  observe  one 
who  should  have  been  an  ornament  of  the 
Bench,  there  a  possible  Church  dignitary, 
there  again  an  eminent  actor,  two  or  three 
Harley  Street  surgeons,  and  any  number 
of  magnificently  bearded  minor  prophets — 
all  of  them  garbed,  with  the  oddest  air  of 
masquerade,  in  the  soft  black  hats,  black 
suits,  and  parti-coloured  neckerchiefs  of  the 
holiday-making  fisherman  or  farm-hand. 
And  the  younger  men  are  equally  preposses- 
sing, in  spite  of  their  predilection  for  nether 
garments  of  a  livid  blue,  and  for  bowler 
hats  which,  after  the  perverse  nature  of 
their  kind,  always  contrive  to  appear 
either  too  large  or  too  small  for  the  heads 
they  cover.  In  passing,  you  note  that 
two  distinct  creases  run  down  the  back  of 
each  trouser-leg,  and  you  wonder  by  what 

miracle   of  folding  and  mattress-pressure 
119 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


so  seemingly  impossible  a  result  has  been 
attained. 

But  now,  punctually  on  the  stroke  of 
five,  the  school-bell  clangs,  the  door  is 
thrown  open,  and  the  crowd  throngs  in. 
And  here  is  Hubert  at  last,  arriving  just 
in  time  to  see  a  flutter  of  pink-and-white 
skirts  cross  the  playground  and  disappear. 
He  pauses  irresolute,  delays  for  the  re- 
tying  of  an  already  securely  tied  bootlace, 
and  follows,  we  after  him. 

Every  seat  was  already  occupied,  save 
at  the  farthest  table,  where  Destiny,  pur- 
posely as  it  would  seem,  had  left  two 
vacant  places,  one  on  Dorinda's  right,  the 
other  facing  her.  It  would  have  been 
simpler  to  leave  only  one,  but  that  is 
seldom  Destiny's  way.  Man  must  be 
given  a  chance  to  wriggle  in  his  chains, 

or  he  might  lie  down  and  sulkily  refuse  to 
1 20 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

continue  his  part  in  the  farce.  Hubert 
deliberated  which  place  he  should  take, 
and  in  five  seconds  had  a  dozen  incontro- 
vertible reasons  for  either  course.  Slowly 
he  made  his  way  behind  the  backs  of 
heads,  familiar  and  unknown,  until  he 
came  to  the  gap  opposite  to  where  Dorinda 
sat.  It  appeared  that  she  had  not  noticed 
his  approach.  There  she  sat,  calmly  eat- 
ing and  drinking,  as  cool  and  unconscious 
and  inaccessibly  remote  as  a  snowy  moun- 
tain peak.  On  the  whole  he  thought  he 
would  remain  where  he  was. 

She  lifted  her  cup.  How  genteel,  how 
seductive  the  crook  of  that  darling  little 
finger  !  She  drank,  as  a  goddess  con- 
descending to  mortality  might  drink  ; 
with  a  divine  thirst,  it  would  seem,  for 
the  cup  went  up  and  up,  until  the  rim  of 
it  rested  on  the  fairy  bridge  of  her  nose. 
And  then 

121 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  encounter 
the  challenge  of  two  dark  eyes  over  the 
edge  of  a  tea-cup  or  a  fan  ?  Have  you 
tried  to  decipher  their  enigmatic  message, 
to  "  riddle  what  those  prattling  eyes 
would  say,"  without  the  context  of  the 
other  features  to  help  you  ?  It  is  a  de- 
lightful but  perilous  experience,  a  fasci- 
nating but  bewildering  occupation.  For 
a  brief  eternity  of  heart-beats  Hubert  was 
held  enchanted  ;  then  the  cup  went  down 
and  the  eyes  with  it.  A  sudden  tide  of 
resolution  carried  him  round  the  table. 
It  ebbed  and  left  him  stranded  at  the 
haven's  mouth.  Perhaps  after  all  the 
other  seat  was  preferable. 

As  he  stood  hesitant,  Dorinda's  hand 
went  down  and  softly  drew  her  skirt 
aside.  His  heart  leapt  at  the  shy  invita- 
tion ;  he  boldly  overstepped  the  bench, 
and  in  the  act  discovered  a  sufficient 

122 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

reason  for  both  vacant  places.  The  table 
was  not  one,  but  two,  set  end  to  end  at 
this  very  spot.  Above-board  all  was  fair 
and  plausible,  with  the  cloth  spread  over 
to  conceal  the  juncture  ;  but  below,  two 
massive  trestles  left  scant  room  for  human 
legs.  He  became  aware  that  Dorinda  was 
shaking  with  suppressed  laughter  at  the 
successful  springing  of  her  little  trap,  and 
he  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  as  he 
drew  forth  his  disillusioned  limb.  A 
quicker  temper  would  have  carried  him 
off  in  a  huff  ;  a  shade  more  meekness,  and 
he  might  have  slunk  away  abashed.  Being 
neither  an  absolute  hotspur  nor  a  complete 
milksop,  but  an  average  neutral  compound 
of  the  two,  he  remained  where  he  was, 
and  attempted  to  insinuate  himself  between 
the  obstruction  and  the  person  seated  to 
the  right  of  it.  The  latter,  a  stout,  bald- 
headed  stranger,  was  too  deeply  occupied 
123 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

with  tea  and  cake  to  look  up  ;  but  he 
spoke  aloud  out  of  the  fullness  of  his 
mouth. 

"  Now-na  !  Don't  'e  go  squeezing 
a  tough  old  chap  like  me  !  Be  a  man 
and  squeeze  the  maid  ;  she's  young  and 
tender." 

It  was  Dorinda's  turn  to  flush,  as  eyes 
were  attracted  and  grins  went  round. 
She  sat  up,  stiff  and  unyielding,  while 
Hubert  desperately  inserted  one  rigidly 
respectful  leg  into  the  vacancy.  The  other 
remained  perforce  outside.  His  position 
was  anything  but  comfortable,  but  in  his 
present  frame  of  mind  a  little  physical 
martyrdom  did  not  come  amiss. 

A  cup  of  bitterness  was  passed  to  him  ; 
he  took  a  slice  of  tribulation  haphazard 
from  the  nearest  dish,  and  mechanically 
gulped  and  chewed,  staring  straight  in 

front  of  him  the  while.     If  the  company 

124 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

thought  he  had  any  particular  reason  for 
choosing  that  particular  seat,  the  company 
must  be  shown  how  ridiculously  mistaken 
it  was.  As  for  the  maiden,  cool  indiffer- 
ence was  the  most  dignified  as  well  as  the 
easiest  line  to  take  with  her. 

A  minute  passed  without  event,  save 
the  accidental  encounter  and  simultane- 
ously hurried  withdrawal  of  two  self- 
conscious  elbows.  Then  Hubert  became 
aware  that  the  eyes  of  his  other  neighbour 
were  upon  him.  He  turned,  and  was 
immediately  accosted. 

"  One  of  the  Hender  ringers,  if  I  ben't 
mistook?  Thought  so.  What  might  be 
the  weight  of  that  tenor  bell  of  yourn, 
now  ?  " 

"  Nine  hundredweight,  two  score  and 
seven  pound,  'a  b'lieve,"  was  the  answer. 

"  So  light  as  that  ?     Well,  I  was  pulling 

to  en  just  now,  and  I'd  ha'  set  him  down 
125 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


for  another  hundred  at  the  least.  Steaming 
like  a  crock,  I  was,  time  we  rung  down  ; 
and  as  for  my  hands — well,  look  for  your- 
self. If  these  hands  were  rabbits,  you'd  say 
they  were  ready  for  the  pot,  wouldn'  e  ? ' 

"  We  reckon  that  bell  do  take  some 
handling,"  said  Hubert  on  the  patronizing 
note. 

"  He  do  that.  Frame  want  seeing  for, 
I  should  say.  Your  bell  ?  " 

"  Well,  no.     I  do  mostly  pull  fifth." 

"  Hey  !  'Twas  you  scat  the  ringing 
abroad  just  now,  then  !  F-ff  !  You  must 
feel  pretty  and  bad  about  en.  Just  as  you 
were  walloping  along  like  clockwork,  too ! 
Well,  well  !  How  did  'a  happen,  now  ? 
Heard  a  mazy  old  yarn  just  now,  some- 
thing about  a  maid  in  the  belfry." 

"  You  can  believe  that  if  you've  a  mind 
to,"  said  Hubert  with  an  admirable 

assumption  of  scorn. 
126 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  I  don't,  my  son.  Here's  a  good 
observance  for  'e  :  Don't  believe  half 
what  you'm  told,  and  make  particular  in- 
quiries about  the  other  half.  And  here's 
another  :  Head  o'  the  well  for  clear  water. 
How  did  'a  happen,  now  ?  " 

"  Aw,  don't  know.  Got  careless  and 
missed  my  balance,  s'pose." 

The  other  regarded  him  with  increased 
interest. 

"  Young  man,"  he  said  cordially,  "  I'd 
be  proud  to  know  'e  better.  For  all  the 
years  I've  been  pulling  to  a  bell-rope, 
I  never  heard  words  like  those  from  a 
ringer  yet.  *  Touch  of  the  cramp,'  I've 
heard,  and  '  Fly  got  down  my  throat,'  and 
fifty  lies  beside,  so  clane  and  round  as  the 
top  of  my  head  ;  but  never  till  this  day 
did  I  hear  a  ringer  put  the  fault  on  his 
own  carelessness.  Truth's  one  jewel  and 

modesty's  another,  and  if  I  was  a  tender 
127 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


young  maiden — spaking  in  a  general  way 
and  no  respect  to  persons — I  wouldn'  be 
so  terrible  quammish  about  being  squeezed 
by  a  honest  man.  'Tidn'  so  often  I'd  get 
the  chance,  and  if  ever  a  man  deserved  to 
set  up  comfor'ble  to  his  tay,  you  'm  the 
one.  Hoi  !  back  oars  there  with  they 
splits  !  " 

Forcibly  capturing  a  convoy  of  buttered 
buns  on  its  way  down  the  table,  he  dis- 
missed Hubert  with  a  friendly  nod  and  fell 
to  work  again. 

A  tiny  whisper — the  merest  gossamer 
thread  of  sound — caressed  Hubert's  left 
ear. 

"  'Twas  my  fault,  I  fear." 

He  looked  round  into  a  face  that  was 
all  mournful  penitence,  save  for  the  eyes, 
which  bade  him  mark  the  humour  of  the 
situation.  But  the  humour  of  the  situa- 
tion was  just  what  he  failed  to  see. 
128 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


"  I  don't  blame  nobody,"  he  whispered 
back,  stiffly  enough. 

"  Then  a  stone's  rolled  off  my  mind," 
came  the  pert  answer. 

He  preserved  a  resentful  silence. 

"  Thank  'e  for  not  telling  upon  me," 
she  murmured. 

"  I  wouldn'  do  that'''  A  whisper  is  by 
nature  a  colourless  form  of  speech  ;  and 
until  you  have  made  the  trial,  you  cannot 
conceive  the  difficulty  of  flushing  it  with 
the  roseate  hues  of  airy  gallantry. 

"  If  you  could  have  seen  yourself  !  " 
On  her  face  was  sketched  a  comic  picture 
of  imbecile  astonishment — round  eyes 
staring,  mouth  ajar. 

" 1  was  quite  satisfied  with  what  I 
did  see."  Nothing  could  be  neater  or 
apter. 

"  YouVe  seen  the  like  before,  s'pose." 

"  Never ! " 

K  129 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

The  modest  eyelids  drooped ;  unlicensed 
laughter  twitched  the  bow  of  the  lips. 

"  But  you'm  vexed  at  losing  the  prize 
after  that." 

"  Not  I.     'Twas  worth  it." 

She  tossed  her  head  and  coyly  turned  it 
away.  This  was  beyond  doubt  or  cavil 
the  Real  Thing,  and  she  was  enjoying  it 
hugely.  What  next  ? 

"  How  nice  your  hair  do  look,  Dorinda ! " 

She  smiled  inwardly  at  a  memory,  and 
was  tempted  to  try  a  little  experiment  in 
comparative  psychology.  Her  hand  flut- 
tered up  to  her  head  and  privily  set  a  snare 
of  wire. 

"  Shall  I  tell  'e  a  secret,  Hubert  ?  "  she 
asked,  all  ingenuousness  and  candour. 
"  There's  thirty-five  hairpins  into  'n  this 
very  minute,  and  I  do  feel  so  complicated 
up  top.  I  wonder  whether  you  can  see 

any  sticking  out  or  no." 
130 


His  eyes  strayed  lingering  through  the 
magic  labyrinth,  and  fell  into  the  snare. 

"  Ess,  there's  one  I  can  see." 

"  Would  'e  mind  pushing  him  home  for 
me  ? " 

He  hesitated,  furtively  scanning  the 
faces  of  the  company. 

"  'Tis  up  under  your  hat  to  the  left,  " 
he  said  at  length.  "  Where  you  had  your 
hand  just  now." 

Stupid  fellow  !  As  if  she  didn't  know 
that  !  Petulantly  she  jabbed  the  pin  back 
into  its  place,  and  pointedly  she  edged 
away  from  him.  She  knew  the  rules  ; 
now  was  the  moment,  here  the  opportu- 
nity, for  a  tiff. 

Dimly  aware  that  in  some  unexplained 
manner  he  had  lost  ground,  Hubert 
sought  to  retrieve  it  by  a  long  stride 
in  advance. 

"  I've  been    thinking,    Dorinda,    you'll 
K2  131 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


be  looking  for  somebody  to  put  'e  round 
after  tay." 

"  You  can  think  what  you've  a  mind 
to,  s'pose."  It  was  not  an  encouraging 
answer,  flung  at  him  over  the  coldest  of 
cold  shoulders  ;  but  he  persevered. 

"  Shouldn'  mind  putting  of  'e  round 
myself,  if  you  can't  find  nobody  better," 
he  said,  on  just  the  right  note,  as  he  flat- 
tered himself,  of  jaunty  mock-indifference. 

"  'Twould  take  some  time  to  do  that." 
He  glowed.  "  Poor's  the  best  of  'e." 
He  was  snuffed. 

"  We  ben't  no  match  for  the  maidens, 
to  be  sure,"  he  rallied,  and  pointed  the 
application  with  a  meaning  glance.  It 
struck  a  marble  stare,  and  fell  blunted. 
Would  a  less  subtle — but  still  subtle — 
compliment  reach  the  mark  ? 

"  Though    when     I     consider    of     the 

maidens,  seeming  to  me   I   could  put   my 
132 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

hand   on   the  crop  of  the  bunch,  easy  as 
I'm  setting  here." 

He  saw  the  contemptuous  shrug  of  the 
shoulder;  he  could  not  see  the  involuntary 
smile  on  the  averted  face,  nor  the  dis- 
tracting gleam  of  the  pearly  tooth  that 
strove  to  bite  it  in. 

"  Dorinda,  how  are  you  so  niffy  ?  ' 

No  answer,  nor  the  least  sign  that  she 
had  heard  him. 

"  If  I've  said  anything  to  vex  'e 

She  turned  quickly.  "  You  couldn'  do 
that,"  she  flashed. 

He  checked  an  impulse  to  draw  nearer. 

"  Glad  to  hear  'e  say  that,"  he  said 
guardedly,  as  one  who  goes  to  pluck  a 
rose  with  a  memory  of  thorns  in  his 
mind . 

"  To  vex  me  or  plaise  me,  'tis  all  one 
to   me  what  you  say,"  she  retorted,  and 
turned  away  with  an  air  of  finality. 
'33 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


Very  well  ;  final  let  it  be.  Risk 
another  rebuff?  Never,  while  there  was 
manhood  left  in  him  !  After  all,  who 
was  she,  to  scorn  him  thus  ?  Only  little 
Dorinda  Varco  from  next  door.  Had  he 
not  chivalrously  shielded  her  from  dis- 
covery in  the  belfry  ?  Was  this  his 
reward  for  shouldering  all  the  blame  ? 
Very  well.  His  presence  was  distasteful 
to  her  ;  he  would  remove  it  as  soon  as 
might  be. 

He  seized  his  neglected  tea-cup  and 
drained  it  to  the  dregs.  Nauseously  cold 
and  bitter  was  the  draught.  Was  all 
warmth  and  sweetness  fled  from  the 
world  ? 

A  discreet  elbow  saluted  his  ribs,  a 
husky  whisper  his  ear. 

"  Honest  man,  did  'e  ever  try  to  catch 
a  thistle-seed  ?  'Tidn'  no  use  running 
after  en,  and  the  smarter  you  snatch  to  en 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


the  further  'a  '11  dance  away.  But  just 
you  keep  still,  or  stroll  off  a  couple  of 
steps,  careless-like,  and  nine  times  out  of 
ten  'a  '11  come  rowling  after  'e  and  hang- 
ing to  your  coat-sleeve,  and  no  brishing 
of  it  off,  however  you  may  try.  Honest 
man,  there's  morals  to  be  sarched  out  of 
thistle-seeds." 

"  They  ben't  worth  the  trouble  of 
catching,  anyhow,"  said  Hubert,  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  anyone  whom  it 
might  concern. 

"  My  son,"  said  the  benevolent  bald- 
head,  "  if  you  say  that,  I  condemn  'e  for 
a  poor  sportsman.  'Tidn'  so  much  what 
you  go  forth  to  catch,  'tis  the  catching  of 
it  that  count — bear  that  in  mind.  The 
sport's  the  thing.  Flea  or  tiger,  don't 
matter  so  long  as  'a  '11  give  some  sport. 
Nor  I  wouldn'  spake  so  scornful  of  these 
thistle-seeds,  nother.  Pretty  things,  sure 
'35 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

'nough — all  pluff  and  pilmy,  and  dancing 
along  so  gay  and  lightsome,  like  a  maid 
of  seventeen." 

"  And  fine  pretty  weeds  they  grow  up 
to,"  said  the  temporary  cynic.  "  Freckles 
all  over,  and  no  getting  rids  of  'em,  like  a 
wife  at  forty/' 

"  Well  said,"  approved  the  other. 
"  Nately  took  up,  sure  'nough.  But  you'll 
notice  the  dunkey  do  think  a  brave  lot 
of  'em  ;  and  'tidn'  for  you  and  me 
to  scorn  the  dunkey's  opinion,  honest 
man." 

At  this  moment  a  gentle  tug  at  Hubert's 
coat  brought  the  crazy  walls  of  his  castle 
of  indifference  toppling  to  the  ground. 
He  turned  eagerly.  Dorinda's  eyes  were 
on  the  piece  of  cake  she  was  carefully 
crumbling  in  her  plate.  Her  lips  moved, 
and  syllabled  his  father's  name.  He 

looked  up,  and  there,  facing  them  across 

136 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


the  table,  towered  and  glowered  the  elder 
Barren.  At  once  without  premeditation, 
Hubert's  left  hand  dropped  to  his  side,  and 
another  hand,  soft  and  small,  slipped  into 
it  and  clung  there.  And  so  together,  like 
two  naughty  children,  they  awaited  the 
stroke  of  doom. 

During  the  past  hour,  Mr.  Barren's 
experiences  had  been  something  like 
Richard  Crookback's  on  Bosworth  Field, 
and  had  left  him  in  a  similar  condition  of 
baffled  fury.  Three  separate  blazonries  of 
pink-and-white  had  he  marked  down, 
pursued  and  confronted,  only  to  be  met  on 
each  occasion  by  injured  innocence  and  a 
complete  alibi.  But  now  there  could  be 
no  mistake.  There  sat  the  culprits,  the 
greater  and  the  less,  in  incriminating  pro- 
pinquity, with  the  consciousness  of  guilt 
writ  large  upon  them.  If  the  occasion 
was  a  public  one,  so  much  the  worse  for 
'37 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


them.  He  was  in  the  mood  that  strikes 
and  spares  not. 

"  I  wouldn'  have  believed  it,"  he  began  ; 
and  though  the  tones  were  low,  they  sent 
a  stir  right  down  the  table.  "  The  word 
was  put  into  my  mouth,  but  I  spet  en  out 
agin  with  scorn.  '  No  !  '  I  said  to  them, 
4  nobody  from  Sunny  Corner  would  go  to 
do  such  a  thing,  least  of  all  the  only  cheeld 
of  my  best  friend,  that  I've  been  a  second 
uncle  to  all  her  life.  Never  will  I  believe 
it  of  her,'  I  said  to  them.  And  there 
she  set  ;  and  I'd  give  the  world  and  my 
best  hat  to  be  able  to  say  'twadn'  no  son  of 
mine  setting  next  to  her." 

"  Father  !  "  exclaimed  Hubert  with 
desperate  vehemence. 

"  I'll  'tend  to  you  presently,  my  son/' 
said  Nicky  grimly.  "  Friends  all,"  he 
continued,  on  a  rising  tide  of  oratory  that 
swept  the  major  part  of  the  feasters  to 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


their  feet,  "  some  of  'e  do  know  me  and 
some  don't.  They  that  do  know  me  do 
know  me  for  one  that  don't  know  the 
maning  of  fear  nor  yet  of  favour.  Soon 
's  I  see  roguery  I  go  for  'n — don't  matter 
who  'tis  or  where  'tis.  Do  I  take  credit 
by  that  ?  No.  'Tis  my  nature — can't 
help  myself  ;  'tis  my  duty — wouldn'  help 
myself  if  I  could." 

On  an  effective  pause  he  gathered  his 
audience  with  his  eye.  The  deathlike 
silence  was  broken  by  a  murmured  com- 
ment from  the  bald-headed  unknown. 

"  '  'Tis  my  nature  and  my  duty,'  said  the 
mad  bull  ;  and  up  went  the  old  woman, 
tiss-toss,  sky-high." 

Without  catching  the  words,  Nicky 
recognized  the  hostile  nature  of  the  inter- 
ruption, and  went  for  the  interrupter  with 
your  practised  orator's  readiest  weapon. 

"  Tell  'e  what,  my   man  ;    if    I    hadn' 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

got  more  sense  than  hair,  and  none  o' 
that  to  spake  of,  I'd  keep  my  mouth 
shut." 

"  Well  put  in,"  muttered  the  stranger 
with  a  grin,  and  pensively  rubbed  the  spot 
where  the  bludgeon  had  fallen. 

"  Now,  friends,"  resumed  Nicky,  "  you 
d'  all  know  the  onmerited  disgrace  that 
have  been  put  upon  we  ringers  of  St. 
Render  in  our  own  church  tower  this  day. 
'Tidn'  for  me  to  say  our  set's  well  known 
for  the  best  set  in  this  locality,  nor  I  won't 
say  we  never  yet  missed  first  prize  with- 
out the  jedges  had  their  own  li'll  bit  of 
bacon  to  fry  ;  but  our  name's  well  up,  'a 
b'lieve,  and  I  think  you'll  agree  that  our 
place  an't  the  bottom  place  at  all  and 
not  even  a  hon'rable  mention  to  save 
our  credit.  But  that's  our  place  to-day. 
And  how  ?  Where's  the  saycret  cause 

and  raison  thereof  ?     Where's  the  brass- 

140 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

face  piece  of  female  mischief  that  geeked 
in  and  distorted  my  onfortunate  son's 
attention,  and  scat  to  flatters  as  pretty  a 
touch  as  ever  was  rung  in  Render  tower  ? 
There  ! "  Out  shot  his  accusing  fore- 
finger. "  There  she  sit  before  me,  peck- 
ing up  bread-crumbs  like  a  innocent  li'll 
sparrer,  more  shame  to  her,  and  let  her 
deny  it  if  she  dare  take  the  chance  of  the 
next  crumb  choking  her  !  " 

He  ended  on  a  trumpet-note,  dominant 
over  the  rising  uproar  of  feet  and  voices. 
I  despair  of  doing  justice  to  the  scene — 
the  pallid  couple  sitting  mute,  hand  in 
hand  ;  their  accuser  fixed  like  a  statue  in 
the  attitude  of  denunciation  ;  the  excited 
revellers  pressing  about  them,  gloating, 
vociferating,  clambering  on  benches,  even 
mounting  the  tables,  to  the  imminent 
peril  of  the  crockery.  Suddenly  at  the 

door  the  hubbub  swelled  still  louder,  and 
141 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


fiery,  far-seen,  like  the  oriflamme  of 
France,  the  meteor-beard  of  Dickon  Varco 
clove  the  press.  With  a  sharp  question 
or  two  he  mastered  the  situation  as  he 
went  ;  and  when  he  took  up  his  position 
confronting  Nicky,  with  a  protecting  hand 
on  Dorinda's  shoulder,  the  light  of  battle 
glowed  baleful  in  his  eye. 

On  a  sudden  hush  the  duel  began. 

"  Now,  Nick  Barron,  what's  all  this 
foolishness  ?  ' 

"  Dick  Varco,  I  warn  'e,  best  not  inter- 
fere 'twixt  me  and  my  duty." 

"  Duty  !  Pretty  sort  of  duty,  bully-rag- 
ging my  daughter  at  a  public  tay  !  " 

"  When  I  see  roguery " 

"  Roguery  !  I'll  trouble  'e  not  to  put 
that  word  'pon  my  flesh  and  blood  !  " 

"  I  put  my  words  where  they  belong. 
I  got  the  proofs.  Didn'  she  geek 

in " 

142 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"Tshutt !  You  d'  talk  sick.  What  if 
she  did  ?  Bit  of  harmless  cur'osity,  same 
as  any  maid's  liable  to,  summer-time. 
Where's  your  roguery  there  ?  What  for 
should  the  cheeld  want  to  upsot  you  and 
your  gashly  old  tin  pots  and  brass  pans, 
I'd  like  to  know  ? " 

"  Tin  pots  !  Take  care,  Dickon  Varco  ! 
Brass  pans  !  Ah  !  'tidn'  the  first  time 
you've  scandalized  our  bells,  nor  yet  the 
second.  '  Only  Dickon's  quips,'  said  I, 
and  went  on  trusting  of  'e — called  'e  my 
best  friend  only  this  minute.  But  now 
my  eyes  be  opened,  and  I  see — ah,  what 
do  I  see  ?  " 

"  Can  tell  'e  that  aisy,  b'lieve.  Slap 
through  the  millstone  and  into  the  mare's 
nest — that's  of  it,  Nicky-Nick-Nick  !  " 

"  I  see  a  rat-hole,  and  I  smell  a  black- 
hearted old  rat  crumped  up  inside  of  it, 
scratching  his  red  whiskers  and  planning  a 
H3 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

roguery  that  he  don't  dare  put  a  hand  to 
himself.  But  here's  the  young  rat  handy. 
4  Pst,  my  dear  !  Go  to  so-and-so  and  do 
so-and-so.  One  of  my  celebrated  little 
jokes,  you  know.'  '  All  right,  daddy.' 
'  Tie  up  your  tail  first,  my  dear,  so  they 
shan't  reco'nize  'e.'  '  So  I  will,  daddy,' — 
and  off  she  go,  tie  her  tail  in  a  knot,  and 
— fah  !  Harmless  cur'osity  ?  No  !  A 
cooked  job,  by  goles  !  " 

Dickon's  anger  was  ebbing  fast.  He 
threw  his  hands  abroad  with  a  gesture  of 
humorous  despair. 

"  My  life  !  Here's  a  smother  and  a 
smeech  of  a  damp  straw  bonfire  !  Here's 
a  toddy  old  Fifth  of  November  yarn 
spinned  out  of  a  lock  of  dirty  cobwebs  ! 
Some  brains  do  want  a  broom  took  to 
'em,  I  reckon." 

"  And  some  backs  do  want  a  broom- 
stick took  to  'em  !  There's  for  you, 
144 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Dickon  Varco  !  Yes,  I  name  'e  for  what 
you  are — a  black-hearted,  white-livered, 
red-whiskery  varmin  !  " 

At  this  polychromatic  insult  the  assem- 
bly burst  into  renewed  uproar.  Shouts 
of  ironical  laughter,  of  stern  reprobation, 
of  friendly  admonition,  were  showered 
on  the  combatants.  Dickon  marked  the 
frenzy  of  his  old  friend's  eye,  the  trem- 
bling of  his  outstretched  fist  ;  and  the  last 
spark  of  resentment  died  down  within 
him. 

"  Come,  Nicky,  old  comrade,"  he  said 
earnestly,  "  this  won't  do.  I'm  sorry  now, 
and  you'll  be  sorry  directly.  Looksee — 
I  take  back  every  word  I've  said,  and 
there's  my  hand." 

"  Never  !  I've  done  with  'e  for  good 
and  all,  hand-shake  and  mouth-speech, 
from  this  time  henceforth  till  we're  both 
in  our  graves/' 

L  145 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  Fare  'e  well,  then,"  said  Dickon,  not 
without  dignity.  "  Till  burying-time  so 
be  it.  But  I'll  be  looking  for  'e  to  make 
it  up,  come  Jedgment  Day,"  he  added 
with  a  twinkle,  as  he  drew  Dorinda  to 
her  feet  and  started  for  the  door. 

Nicky's  parting  shot  was  unanswered, 
and,  for  his  credit's  sake,  shall  remain 
unrecorded. 


146 


VI 

OUTSIDE  in  the  sunshine,  the  father 
drew  his  daughter's  arm  closer  within  his 
own,  and  soothed  her  agitation  with  a  few 
reassuring  pats,  but  for  the  present  said 
no  word,  wise  and  considerate  parent  that 
he  was.  Passing  out  of  the  playground, 
they  came  upon  Mr.  Roscorla,  stranded 
by  some  unknown  mischance  in  the 
middle  of  the  road.  His  wizard  ash  was 
tracing  magic  circles  in  the  dust,  of  its 
own  volition,  apparently  ;  he  looking  on 
with  the  corrugated  forehead  and  pursed- 
up  lips  of  one  who  curiously  and  doubt- 
fully investigates  some  strange  pheno- 
menon of  Nature.  What  subtle  instinct 
warned  him  of  Dorinda's  approach,  that 

even   as    he    looked    up    he    was   already 
L  2  147 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

struggling  into  a  smile  as  into  a  heavy 
overcoat  ?  What  power,  as  he  opened 
his  broad-beaming  mouth  to  speak, 
breathed  into  it  the  inspiration  of  a  life- 
time ? 

"  Fine  courting  weather  for  the  chaps," 
he  croaked,  with  the  sly  triumphant  look 
of  the  chess-player  who  forestalls  his 
opponent's  move.  To  his  utter  amaze- 
ment the  answer  came,  not  in  words  or  in 
laughter,  but  in  a  sudden  torrent  of  tears. 
In  another  moment  a  bristling  embodi- 
ment of  wrath,  impossible  to  recognize  as 
the  easy-going  Dickon,  had  swept  him 
aside  with  a  push  that  was  almost  a  blow, 
and  the  two  were  gone,  leaving  him  to 
reconstruct  the  universe  as  best  he  might 
out  of  the  boiling  mists  of  chaos. 

"  Stupid  old  bufflehead  ! "  growled 
Dickon.  "  Clumsy  g'eat  foot,  stanking 

'pon   my  poor  li'l  tender  worm !      Come, 
148 


stiddy's  the  word,  my  lovely  !  Stiddy, 
then  !  Sun  gone  black  out  with  'e,  have 
'um  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  only  a  trumpery 
li'l  cloud  got  in  the  way  of  'm  for  a 
minute.  Why  " — he  cocked  an  eye  over- 
head— "  if  I  do  live,  there  'a  be  all  the 
while  ;  ess,  there's  bright  Phabus  shining 
up  aloft  like  a  good  one  !  Shine  up,  old 
cap'n  !  Here's  the  dew  'pon  a  rose-bush 
want  drying." 

Not  the  words,  but  their  miserable 
inadequacy  as  a  means  of  consolation, 
faintly  stirred  her  inherited  sense  of 
humour.  She  smiled  wanly  through  her 
tears,  and  blindly  fumbled  at  her  belt. 

"  Lost  handk'cher  ?  Take  mine, 
cheeld,"  said  Dickon,  whipping  out  a 
small  crimson  table-cloth.  "  Lost  or 
found,  you'll  never  sop  up  all  that  wet 
with  yourn.  These  female  go-to-meeting 

handk'chers  are  like  a  weathercock  in  a 
149 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


lew — more  ornyment  than  use.  Come, 
better  now  ?  That's  right  ;  and  the  eyes 
of  'e  all  the  brighter  for  their  sprinkling, 
I'll  be  bound.  Lev  us  see  to  'em.  Ah  ! 
bright  as  a  bush-sparrow's.  Take  'em 
out  and  hang  'em  to  your  ears,  my  pretty, 
and  where'll  the  Queen's  diments  be 
then  ?  " 

His  tender  nonsense  began  to  have  its 
calculated  effect. 

"  Silly  old  daddy  !  "  she  dimpled,  with 
a  little  push  of  reviving  coquetry. 

"  At  your  sarvice,  my  dear,"  he  chuck- 
led. "  Dickon  Varco,  raisonable  old  and 
terrible  silly,  sure  enough,  but  no  bad 
hand  to  a  compliment  after  that,  as  your 
ma  '11  bear  witness.  Many  's  the  one 
I've  paid  her  in  the  old  ancient  days. 
To  tell  'e  the  truth,  that  bit  about  the 
diments  was  one  of  'em  ;  I  can  mind  to 

his  day   how   she  paid    me   back  for  'm 

150 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


with  a  slap  'cross  the  face,  and  brave  and 
proud  I  was  of  the  favour.  A  smack  was 
counted  most  the  same  as  a  kiss,  they 
days.  Cur'ous  how  matrimony  do  change 
a  man's  convictions  !  " 

Dorinda  turned  an  incredulous  eye  on 
the   dim   past.     No  ;  loving   and    dutiful 
daughter  though  she  was,  she  could  not 
summon  up  a  plausible  picture  of  father 
showering      jewelled      compliments       on 
mother,  and  mother  requiting  him  with 
kittenish  pats.     Yet  so  it  must  have  been  ; 
hard  as  it  was   to  realize,  all  these  staid 
middle-aged     folk     had     certainly    been 
young  once   upon   a   time.     The    logical 
corollary    of    this    novel    reflection    took 
the    horrid  form  of  a  nightmare  glimpse 
into  the  far  future,  where  she  and  a  not 
impossible  he  sat   chained  together,  two 
stout  and  grizzled   ghosts,  indifferent  and 
unthrilled,  in  a  shadowy  kitchen  over  a 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


spectral  fire  that  warmed  not.  She 
shivered  violently,  and  her  eyes  brimmed 
over  anew. 

"  Why,    Dorinda "    Dickon    began 

with  anxious  concern. 

"  Take  me  home  !  "  she  cried,  clinging 
to  him.  "  Oh,  I  wish  I  was  dead  !  Take 
me  home,  daddy  !  ' 

"There,  there  !  '  he  soothed  her. 
"  Nerves  all  abroad,  and  no  wonder. 
What  you  want  is  a  nice  quiet  set-down 
for  half  an  hour  somewhere  out  of  the 
way  with  nobody  to  plague  'e.  And 
here's  the  very  place,  where  I  was  taking 
you  to  all  the  time.  Feast-day  or  worky- 
day,  fair  or  foul,  don't  matter  how  'tis 
with  us  outside,  'tis  always  Sunday  arter- 
noon  in  to  Aunt  Jenny  Hosken's." 

So  saying,  he  steered  her  unresisting, 
poor  storm-tossed  pleasure-boat  that  she 

was,  through  a  garden  gate,  up  between 

152 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


ranks  of  happy  neglected  roses,  under  a 
porch  embowered  in  cool-haired  creepers, 
and  so  into  the  harbourage  of  a  tiny  low- 
ceiled  kitchen,  sweet  and  still  and  ex- 
quisitely ordered,  where  nothing  stirred 
save  a  spot  of  sunlight  quietly  dancing 
with  its  attendant  shadows  on  the  wall. 

Deep  in  an  arm-chair  slumbered  a 
small,  frail  old  lady,  with  the  rarest, 
sweetest  face  that  was  ever  carved  out  of 
old  ivory  and  tinged  with  the  hue — "less 
than  of  roses,  more  than  of  violets  " — of 
the  blossoming  orchard.  The  son  of 
Siracri  once  saw  such  another,  and  com- 
pared its  beauty  to  the  clear  light  upon 
the  holy  candlestick.  Time  appears  to 
mankind  in  many  shapes,  most  of  them 
forbidding  enough  ;  looking  on  Aunt 
Jenny's  face,  you  could  picture  him  in 
the  most  amiable  of  aspects,  as  a  cunning 
craftsman  of  a  primitive  age,  squatting 
'53 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 


down  before  an  ordinary  piece  of  mortal 
clay,  and  slowly  and  patiently  elaborating 
it  into  a  quaint  and  exquisite  work  of  art, 
fining  away  the  mere  superfluities  of  flesh, 
bringing  out,  touch  by  touch,  the  intrinsic 
humanity  that  lay  beneath,  and  hatching 
and  raying  and  fretting  all  the  surface 
with  a  delicate  tracery  of  innumerable  fine 
lines,  and  never  a  line  misplaced  or  too 
deeply  bitten,  to  spoil  the  serenity  with 
a  suggestion  of  trouble  or  discontent. 

Mr.  Varco,  standing  at  delighted  gaze 
in  the  doorway,  paid  his  tribute  of 
admiration  in  simpler  coin,  none  the  less 
adequate,  I  dare  say,  for  that. 

"  Aw,  the  old  dear  av  'um  !  "  he  whis- 
pered. "  Beat  the  waxworks  holler, 
don't  'a  ?  " 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  awoke, 
suddenly  and  completely,  as  old  folk  do  ; 
and  two  eyes  of  a  dim  radiance  looked 
154 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

straight  into  Dorinda's  out  of  an  immea- 
surable past.  It  has  a  singular  effect,  this 
first  momentary  look  of  an  old  person 
just  fetched  back  from  her  other  world  of 
dreams.  Surprise  is  not  there,  nor  recog- 
nition, nor  any  human  emotion,  but  a 
sort  of  impersonal  dispassionate  judgment, 
not  very  easy  for  a  mortal  with  a  con- 
science to  endure. 

The  moment  passed,  and  a  gently 
smiling,  softly  garrulous  old  dame  was 
warmly  welcoming  her  guests.  The 
forms  of  greeting  and  personal  inquiry 
having  been  dispatched,  Dickon  took  up 
a  newspaper  which  lay  on  the  table  at 
Aunt  Jenny's  elbow,  with  her  spectacles 
beside  it. 

"  Any  news  'pon  the  paper,  I  wonder  ?  ' 
said  he,  and    plunged    haphazard    into  a 
column. 

"  Hullo  ! "    he     exclaimed     at     once. 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


" « New  Year  concert  at  Polskiddy '  ? "  His 
eyes  sought  the  top  of  the  page.  "  Why, 
aunty,  if  I  do  live,  you'  ve  got  hold  of  a 
paper  six  months  old." 

"  I  know,  my  dear,"  she  replied  placidly. 
"  You  see,  'tis  this  way.  Boy  Albert, 
he's  a  rare  one  for  the  news,  and  he  get 
the  paper  every  week  reg'lar,  and  when 
he've  done  with  en  he  put  en  by  for  me. 
There's  a  wonderful  lot  of  good  news  'pon 
the  paper  every  week,  and  I  can't  bear 
to  miss  none  of  it  ;  but  I  ben't  much  of  a 
scholar,  my  dears,  and  then  agin  my  eyes 
an't  what  they  used  to  be.  So  there  'tis  ; 
the  new  paper  do  come  along  before  I've 
finished  up  with  the  old  one,  and  that's 
how  I've  come  to  drop  behind-hand  a 
bit.  Don't  suppose  I'll  ever  catch  up 
agin,  not  in  this  world.  But  there,  my 
dears  ! — I  reckon  all  news  be  fresh  news 

when  you  haven'  heard  en  before." 
156 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


"  That's  so  sure  'nough,"  agreed  Dickon. 
"  Or  if  'tidn'  azackly  fresh,  'tis  thereafter, 
as  the  fish-jowster  said  for  the  mackerel." 

"  Besides,  my  dears,"  she  continued, 
"  this  old  news,  I  do  find  en  more  com- 
fortable, like,  than  if  'a  was  raw-new. 
There's  a  dreadful  accident,  then,  'pon 
the  paper  you  got  in  your  hand  ;  a  rail- 
way accident,  my  dears — six  poor  sinners 
sent  to  their  'count,  and  five-and-twenty 
wownded.  If  that  had  happened  the  day 
before  yes'day,  and  I'd  come  to  hear  of 
'en,  'twould  be  more  than  I  could  bear, 
to  think  upon  the  poor  m'urning  wives 
and  cheldern,  and  the  suffering  souls  'pon 
their  beds  up  to  hospital,  and  the  doctors 
with  their  gashly  g'eat  knives  a-cutting 
of  'em  up.  But  seeing  'tis  all  over  and 
done  with  months  ago — tears  dried,  proper 
new  headstones  put  up  'pon  the  graves, 
wownds  stitched  up,  handsome  wooden 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


legs  provided  for  them  that  do  require 
them — why,  it  do  just  touch  the  heart 
softly,  like  when  you  call  to  mind  your 
own  sorrows  back-along." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Dickon,  sympathetically 
leading  her  on,  "  all  the  world  do  know 
you've  had  a  sight  of  trouble  in  your 
time,  aunty." 

"  Trouble  and  joy,  my  dears,  trouble 
and  joy.  The  sour  and  the  sweet  ; 
couldn'  be  other,  could  'a  ?  Nor  you 
wouldn'  have  it  other  when  you'm  old 
like  me,  and  think  more  'pon  what's 
past  than  you  do  'pon  what's  to  come. 
'Tis  like  when  you  set  down  to  supper 
after  your  day's  work,  and  look  for  a  bit 
of  a  relish  to  your  bread.  The  jam  and 
the  pickles,  my  dears — the  sweet  and  the 
sour  ;  there  they  be  'pon  table,  and  you  fit 
and  spread  the  one  or  the  other,  according 

as  you  have  a  mind  to." 
158 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  Hear  that,  cheeld  ? "  said  Dickon. 
"Jam  and  pickles — a  tasty  li'l  parable, 
sure  enough.  Aunty,  here's  a  maid  been 
trying  her  hand  to  a  two-pound  jar  this 
very  arternoon,  and  'twadn'  no  jam 
nother." 

Aunty  nodded  with  an  infinite  know- 
ingness. 

"  My  old  eyes  ben't  so  wake  but  what 
I  could  see  that,  soon  as  you  come  in," 
she  said.  "  Look,  my  lovely,  I  wonder  if 
you  could  fancy  giving  a  old  woman 
a  kiss." 

If  Dorinda  hung  back  for  a  moment, 
her  excuse  is  to  be  found  in  the  natural 
reluctance  of  healthy  youth  to  participate 
in  anything  of  the  nature  of  a  sentimental 
scene.  It  was  only  for  a  moment.  Dickon 
was  a  charmed  spectator  of  a  pretty  tableau 
of  youth  and  age  sheltering  together,  cheek 
by  cheek,  in  a  soft  shower  of  summer 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


rain.  As  he  confessed  afterwards,  it 
strained  his  buttons  considerable. 

The  slamming  of  the  garden  gate,  fol- 
lowed by  the  sound  of  a  hurried  step  on 
the  path,  dissolved  the  picture  and  sent 
Dorinda  whisking  back  to  her  seat.  As 
the  steps  came  nearer,  a  high-pitched  voice 
was  heard  ejaculating  broken  phrases. 

"  No  use  .  .  .  Can't  please  'em  nohow  .  .  . 
Wearing  out  my  new  shoes  .  .  .  Might  so 
well  give  up  to  once." 

"  'Tis  boy  Albert  !  "  cried  the  old  lady 
in  some  agitation.  "  What's  brought  en 
home  so  soon,  I  wonder  ? ' 

In  at  the  door  plunged  a  short,  scrubby, 
middle-aged  man,  with  a  moustache  like 
an  age-worn,  time-stained  tooth-brush,  and 
eyes  that  resembled  ice  marbles  in  a  state 
of  incipient  liquefaction.  His  attire  was 
of  a  composite  nature,  something  after  the 

fashion  of  those  figures  in  a  child's  toy- 
160 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

book  in  which  the  head,  body,  and  legs 
are  interchangeable.  A  blue  peaked  cap 
was  superimposed  on  a  black  tail-coat  and 
fancy  waistcoat,  and  those  again  on  tight 
white  flannel  trousers  and  white  canvas 
shoes  ;  so  that,  looking  him  over  from 
head  to  foot,  you  began  your  acquaintance 
with  the  mate  of  a  coasting  vessel,  went 
on  to  a  small  country  tradesman  at  a  tea- 
party,  and  finished  up  with  a  cricketer 
arrayed  for  the  field. 

"  No  good,  mother !  Missed  my  chances 
agin,"  he  began,  before  he  was  moment- 
arily checked  by  the  sight  of  the  visitors. 

"  My  poor  boy!"  quavered  Aunt  Jenny, 
all  tender  brooding  concern. 

"I've  tried  brown  boots,"  he  complained, 
after  nodding  shortly  to  Dickon  and 
peering  curiously  at  Dorinda  as  she 
sat  by  the  window  with  her  back  to 

the  light.    "  I've  tried  white  shoes.     I've 
M  161 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


tried  fancy  waistcoats  and  plain  ones. 
I've  made  the  experiment  of  a  box-hat. 
I've  gone  beyond  my  means  in  neckties. 
No  good.  Young  maidens,  old  maidens, 
widow  women — not  one  of  'em  will  so 
much  as  look  upon  me  sideways.  Fine 
raiment,  conversational  abilities,  generous 
disposition  about  the  cash,  moral  character 
beyond  investigation — what  mo  re  they 
want  I  can't  think  for  my  life.  But  it 
all  goes  for  nothing  in  their  sight.  If  I 
should  look  to  have  a  chance,  there's 
always  another  fellow  got  the  priority. 
Aw,  Bethesda  ! " 

"  It's  a  shame  for  them  !  "  twittered  his 
mother  indignantly.  "  The  best  son  that 
ever  was  !  Who  be  they  to  scorn  him,  I'd 
like  to  know  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  travelled  man,"  he  pursued,  un- 
ostentatiously manoeuvring  for  an  inspec- 
tion of  Dorinda's  profile.  "  I've  been  to 
162 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Mexico,  and  I've  been  to  Gloucester.  I've 
invested  my  money  in  liabilities  like  a 
gentleman,  and  passed  through  the  insol- 
vency court  without  a  stain  on  my  credit. 
I've  got  literature,  and  I've  had  profitable 
convictions  of  sin.  What  more  do  they 
want  ? — that's  where  I'm  puzzled  to." 

"  True,  my  dears,"  Aunt  Jenny  chimed 
in,  while  her  son  carelessly  edged  himself 
window-wards,  so  as  to  get  the  light  on 
Dorinda's  back  hair.  "  True  every  word 
of  it.  And  what's  more,  when  he  give 
his  mind  to  it,  his  equal  for  polishing 
brass  candlesticks  and  smoking  out  bee- 
hives an't  to  be  found  in  the  land.  And 
that  gentle  and  consedrate  to  his  old 
mother " 

"That'll  do,  mother  ;  you  needn'  chatter 
so.  If  I  have  got  the  domestic  quali- 
fications, you  can  leave  them  under  the 

bushel    where   I   keep   them   to.     By   all 
M  2  163 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


accounts,  they  don't  go  for  much  in  the 
female  estimation.  A  spice  of  the  devil — 
ah  !  that's  where  the  vacancy's  to,  or  I'm 
sadly  mistaken.  If  only — but  there  !  'twas 
left  out  of  me  at  birth,  more's  the  pity. 
No  blame  to  you,  mother,  nor  to  father 
neither.  You  did  your  best  for  me  be- 
tween you,  but  I  do  wish  there'd  been  a 
touch  of  rampageousness  somewhere  in 
the  family:  just  enough  to  flavour  me  up, 
if  you  understand,  without  risking  my 
spiritual  welfare.  But  no;  'tisn't  in  me, 
not  so  much  as  a  speckle.  And  if  you 
haven't  got  the  seed,  how  are  you  going 
to  cultivate  the  blossom  ?  "  he  plaintively 
inquired,  stooping  a  little  to  peep  under 
the  brim  of  Dorinda's  hat. 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  Dickon,  all  sympathy. 
"  I  knowed  a  man  once  whose  case  was 
the  very  spit  of  yourn.  Good  looks, 

manners  of  a  lord,  every  merit,  heart  and 
164 


pocket  both,  and  never  a  kind  word  could 
that  man  get  out  of  the  maidens,  all  for 
the  want  of  a  ha'porth  of  rakishness.  'A 
did  his  best  to  improve  himself  too  :  tried 
the  drink,  and  the  drink  made  him  sick  ; 
tried  profane  language  and  desolate  com- 
pany, but  the  bad  words  sticked  to  the 
teeth  of  'm  like  tar,  and  as  for  the  low 
companions,  they  scorned  to  consort  with 
him  ;  if  he'd  been  a  lay  preacher,  they 
could  n'  have  scorned  him  more.  A  hope- 
less case,  sure  enough.  Ah,  poor  chap  !  " 

"  What  became  of  him  ? "  asked  the 
other  with  nervous  anxiety. 

"  Well,  by  what  I've  been  told,  the 
crowner — but  I'd  rather  not  tell  'e,  if  you 
don't  mind.  Don't  wish  to  upset  the 
ladies.  'A  was  about  your  height  too,  I 
reckon,  but  a  bit  bigger  'pon  the  round 
before  'a  begun  to  waste  away." 

"Tell  'e  what  'tis,"  exclaimed  Albert 
165 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

with  gloomy  emphasis.  "  It  won't  be 
long  before  I  do  something  rash  myself. 
'Tisn't  to  be  borne  with,  particularly  holi- 
day time,  with  all  the  rest  of  the  world 
sorted  out  fit  for  the  Ark,  and  me  going 
about  on  my  singular  perambulations, 
till  I'm  ashamed  to  show  my  face  in  the 
street." 

"  Cheer  up,"  said  Dickon  consolingly. 
"  Think  upon  your  merits.  Cheap  dome's 
aisy  to  match  ;  but  when  you  come  to  a 
best  Crown  Derby  parlour  ornyment,  it 
take  some  sarching  to  make  up  the  pair/' 

"  There's  that  to  consider  of,  certainly," 
mused  Albert,  brightening  a  little.  "  And 
I've  been  thinking,  maybe  I'm  too  pro- 
fligate with  my  favours.  Easy  got,  little 
valued,  and  the  free  sample  do  go  upon 
the  dust-heap  so  often  as  not.  If  I  should 
hold  off  a  bit  more,  now — a  touch  of 

fustigiousness,  as   you   may   say.     And   I 
1 66 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

fancy  whether  it  would  be  advisable  to 
change  back  to  my  grey  trousers  against 
the  evening  .  .  .  What  do  the  young  lady 
think  ? "  he  asked,  abruptly  addressing 
Dorinda. 

Dorinda  gave  him  a  full  view  of  the 
demurest  of  faces,  and  soberly  opined  that 
Mr.  Albert  looked  beautiful  as  he  was. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mr.  Albert,  staring  at 
her  with  bulging  eyes.  Suddenly  he 
turned,  drew  Dickon  into  a  corner,  and 
whispered  an  anxious  inquiry  behind  his 
hand. 

"  Not  that  I  know  by,"  replied  Dickon 
aloud.  "  There  was  a  chap,  a  staid  man 
with  a  bit  of  property  ;  but  he  've  been 
turned  off  for  light  behaviour,  'a  b'lieve." 

A  still  more  urgent  whisper  followed. 

"  Don't  know  but  what  she  might," 
said  Dickon.  "  We  '11  ask  her." 

"  One  moment,"  said  Albert,  detaining 
167 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

him  for  a  further  and  longer  communi- 
cation, as  full  of  vehement  sibilants  as  a 
nest  of  angry  adders.  Its  import  was 
dimly  discernible  by  the  light  of  Dickon's 
answers. 

"  I  see  .  .  .  Azackly  so — just  a  prelim'ry 
canter,  like  .  .  .  No,  wouldn'  think  of 
holding  'e  to  en.  .  .  .  Yes,  best  make  it 
clear  to  her.  .  .  .  Very  well,  I'll  tell  her." 

The  colloquy  coming  to  an  end,  Mr. 
Varco  advanced  towards  his  daughter, 
ceremoniously  leading  Albert  by  the 
breast-lapel  of  his  coat.  If  it  had  been 
by  the  lobe  of  his  ear,  he  could  not  have 
looked  more  sincerely  undignified. 

"  Dorinda,  my  cheeld,"  said  her  parent, 
with  a  solemn  visage  on  which  the  faint- 
est of  winks  flickered  for  a  moment  and 
vanished,  "  I  should  like  to  recommend 
to  your  notice  Mr.  Albert  Hosken,  who 

wish  to  know  if  you'd  be  disposed  to  walk 
1 68 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


round  with  him  this  evening,  'pon  trial, 
like.  He  don't  wish  to  bind  himself  to 
nothing,  nor  have  nothing  brought  up 
agin  him  hereafter  by  way  of  ser'ous 
intentions,  if  so  be  you  don't  come  up 
to  the  mark  'pon  further  acquaintance. 
But  'a  do  like  the  looks  of  'e  terrible  well, 
and  there  an't  no  telling  what  might 
happen  if  you  behave  conformable.  What 
do  'e  say,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Ready  to  do  everything  that's  proper," 
subjoined  the  suitor,  putting  such  a  strain 
on  his  eyeballs  that  there  really  seemed  a 
danger  of  their  plopping  out  on  the  floor. 
"  Would  go  so  far  as  eighteen-pence  for 
expenses,  or  even  two  shillings  'pon 
occasion,  share  and  share  alike,  and  bar- 
ring the  merry-go-round,  which  is  apt  to 
take  me  with  a  squeamishness  upon  the 
chest.  Well  stored  with  interesting  in- 
formation to  keep  the  conversation  going, 
169 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

and  would  undertake  to  wash  my  hands 
or  put  on  my  kid  gloves,  whichever  you 
please,  in  case  you  want  to  take  my 
arm.  " 

"  There's  for  'e  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Varco 
with  enthusiasm.  "  Nobody  couldn'  say 
fairer  than  that." 

"  Do  'e  now,  my  dear  !  "  urged  Aunt 
Jenny.  "  Only  give  him  a  trial  ;  a  fair 
trial's  all  he  want.  Just  to  plaise  his  old 

mother,  mv  dear." 

*     j 

All  eyes  were  on  Dorinda,  as  she  sat 
struggling  to  keep  her  features  in  decent 
order  against  the  stress  of  some  obscure  and 
powerful  emotion.  Perhaps  it  was  mere 
wickedness  ;  perhaps  it  was  the  reflection 
that  the  least  eligible  of  cavaliers  is  better 
than  no  cavalier  at  all ;  perhaps,  as  I  like 
to  think,  it  was  an  impulse  of  pity  for  the 
odd  figure  standing  before  her  with  every 

muscle  astrain  on  the  agonizing  rack    of 
170 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

expectation,    that  induced  her  at  last  to 
murmur  a  modest  and  guarded  assent. 

"Just  a  minute  while  I  fetch  my  cane 
with  the  silver  top,"  said  Albert,  precipi- 
tating himself  towards  the  staircase  door  ; 
while  his  mother  began  to  babble  happily 
of  the  merits  of  the  best  son  that  ever  was, 
confessing  by  the  way  that  her  dearest 
wish  was  to  see  him  well  started  on 
the  matrimonial  path  before  the  time 
came  for  her  to  leave  him  alone  in  the 
world. 

"  For  he  an't  one  to  get  along  by  him- 
self, my  dears.  Leave  alone  the  churrs 
and  the  cookery,  he's  bound  to  have  some- 
body to  talk  to  in  the  house,  or  he'd  fall 
into  a  decline.  There  ain't  a  more  sco- 
pious  talker  nowheres  than  boy  Albert  ; 
and  no  trouble  at  all  to  listen  to  en,  for  'a 
don't  look  for  no  answering  back,  most 

of  the  while.     Sometimes,  my  dears " 

171 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Aunt  Jenny  dropped  her  voice  and  confi- 
dentially tapped  the  side  of  her  nose — 
"  sometimes  after  supper  I  should  close 
my  eyes  for  ten  minutes  or  a  quarter  of 
an  hour — might  be  longer  at  a  particular 
time  ;  but  so  long  as  I  don't  go  so  far  as 
downright  snoring,  he  don't  notice  nothing; 
and  when  I  come  to  wake  up  agin,  there 
he  is,  discoursing  away.  And  good  solid 
stuff,  mind  'e — none  of  your  fullish  quips 
and  randy  tales.  The  Lord  be  thanked, 
my  boy  never  made  a  joke  in  his  life." 

"  There  an't  many  you  could  say  so 
much  for,  "  said  Dickon.  "  Seeming  to 
me,  Dorinda,  you'm  a  lucky  maid." 

"  Mind  'e,  my  dear,"  continued  Aunt 
Jenny,  quivering  an  impressive  finger  at 
Dorinda,  "  he's  a  bit  particular  in  some  of 
his  ways — wouldn't  be  a  man  if  'a  wadn'. 
Now  if  you'll  look  'pon  the  dresser  behind 

'e,  you'll  see  a  cup — a  breakfas'  cup,  my 
172 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


dear,  all  alone  by  himself  beside  the  sugar- 
basin." 

Dorinda  looked. 

"  'Tis  a  very  dirty  cup,"  she  said,  with 
a  moue  of  disgust.  "  Haven't  been  washed 
for  weeks,  by  the  looks  of  it." 

"  Weeks  !  "  exulted  the  old  lady. 
"  My  dear,  I  give  'e  my  word,  'tis  more  'n 
two  year  since  that  cup  was  streamed!  'Tis 
my  boy's  cup,  the  one  he  drink  his  cocoa 
out  of,  for  tay  he  never  could  abide,  call- 
ing it  lappy  trade  with  no  nature  into  'n  ; 
nor  I  don't  deny  but  what  cocoa's  the  more 
ser'ous  beverage  of  the  two,  as  he  do  say, 
though  to  my  mind  'a  must  be  mortal  dis- 
turbing to  the  stomick  when  you  take  it  so 
thick  as  he  do,  and  no  telling  what  to  call 
en,  food  or  drink.  But  there  'tis  :  all  sorts 
of  appetites  in  the  world,  and  I  don't 
doubt  but  our  insides  be  so  deffrant  one 
from  another  as  our  outsides,  if  we  could 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


get  to  see  them.  But  we  can't,  my  dears  ; 
thanks  be,  we  can't  do  no  such  thing. 
Now  about  the  cup,  my  dears  :  one  even- 
ing he  took  a  fancy  'bout  the  cocoa  tast- 
ing of  paraffin,  and  I  won't  say  but  what 
'a  might  ha'  been  so  ;  for  the  maid  that 
help  me  about  the  house,  she's  a  good 
little  maid,  but  a  bit  careless  in  and  out, 
partic'lar  when  she've  been  changing  her 
sweetheart,  and  I  allow  'tis  aisy  to  mistake 
your  clouts  when  you  'm  thinking  over 
what  he  said  and  what  you  said  ;  but  any- 
ways, boy  Albert  he  up  and  declare  that 
if  the  cup  couldn'  be  claned  proper  'a 
shouldn'  be  claned  at  all  ;  and  what's 
more,'  a  haven*  been  claned  from  that  day 
to  this  ;  and  that  '11  show  'e  how  nice  and 
partic'lar  my  boy  is.  But  hoosh  ! — here 
'a  do  come." 

Not  only  had  he  fetched  his  cane  and 
donned  his  gloves  of  purple  kid,  but  he 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

had  made  considerable  alterations  in  the 
rest  of  his  attire.  The  grey  trousers  had 
carried  the  day  after  all  ;  the  head-gear 
was  now  of  straw,  flamboyantly  berib- 
boned  ;  and  while  the  tail-coat  remained, 
the  waistcoat,  by  a  touch  of  foppish  neg- 
ligence worthy  of  Brummel  himself,  had 
been  discarded  altogether,  so  as  to  give 
the  pale  blue  braces  and  the  pink-and-gold 
necktie  the  prominence  they  deserved. 

"  Now,  miss,  if  you're  ready,"  he 
announced,  "  we'll  leave  the  old  people 
to  themselves  and  proceed  upon  our 
itiner'y." 

"  Old  people  !  "  Dickon's  beard  went 
up.  "  Say,  Albert,  do  'e  mind  minching 
from  school  and  robbing  Farmer  Olver's 
orchard,  you  and  me  together,  and  the 
old  man  coming  along  and  poking  us 
down  with  his  ox-goad  ?  My  life,  how 
you  did  yowl  and  skip  !  " 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


Albert  stared  blankly,  wondering,  no 
doubt,  whither  this  putid  and  irrelevant 
fable  tended. 

"  No  recollection,"  he  said  shortly. 
"  Never  made  myself  ridiculous  in  my  life. 
Must  have  been  some  other  person.  If 
you're  ready,  miss." 


176 


VII 

ONCE  in  the  garden,  Mr.  Hosken  wasted 
no  time  in  trifling  with  brown  bread 
and  anchovies,  but  proceeded  at  once  to 
the  solid  dishes.  He  had  been  giving  his 
mind,  it  appeared,  to  the  political  situation, 
which  was  stirring  his  gravest  anxiety. 
The  superfluous  behaviour  of  both  Houses 
was  such,  he  declared,  as  wouldn't  be 
tolerated  for  a  moment  on  a  parish 
council.  The  conduct  of  the  Peers  came 
in  for  special  condemnation ;  he  was 
credibly  informed  that  instead  of  attend- 
ing to  the  business  of  the  nation  they 
were  supinely  content  to  stay  at  home  in 
their  drawing-rooms,  where  they  wallowed 
about  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  drinking  iced 
lemonade.  Parliament  House  was  burnt 

N  177 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

down  in  1834  ;  the  amount  of  insurance, 
if  any,  was  unknown  to  him.  He  had 
seen  the  London  firemen  in  their  uni- 
forms :  noble  brass  helmets,  something 
like  those  worn  by  the  horse-soldiers,  but 
lacking  feathers.  Feathers,  as  Dorinda 
would  understand,  were  not  suitable  for 
firemen,  being  liable  to  inflammation. 

Speaking  of  feathers In  parenthesis 

Dorinda  was  requested  to  hold  on  ;  they 
wouldn't  meet  anybody  if  they  went  up 
that  side-turning  ;  and  where  was  the 
advantage  in  walking  together  if  they 
didn't  make  a  proper  exhibition  of  them- 
selves ?  And  would  she  mind  stepping  a 
bit  slower,  or  they  wouldn't  have  wind 
enough  for  their  dialogue.  About  feathers, 

he  was  going  to  say 

But  Dorinda  was  already  yawning  with- 
out concealment  ;    and  although,  for  my 

part,  I  had  rather  be  bored  to  extinction 
178 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

in  her  company  than  be  madly  entertained 
elsewhere,  I  am  not  sufficiently  assured 
of  your  feelings  to  risk  the  experiment 
on  your  patience.  So  we  will  fall  back 
a  yard  or  two,  if  you  please,  and  await 
events.  You  might  easily  be  less  agree- 
ably employed  than  in  walking  along 
behind  a  pretty  country  girl  who  is  accus- 
tomed to  carry  pitchers  of  water  from  the 
well  and  pails  of  butter-milk  to  the  pigs, 
and  so  has  kept  up  her  childish  practice 
in  balancing  herself  on  her  feet — that 
plainsong  of  motion,  which  her  town-bred 
sisters  either  neglectfully  drawl  over,  like 
sleepy  choristers,  or  else  disfigure  with 
fancied  descants — too  florid  mincings  and 
writhings.  Freed  from  the  compulsion  of 
her  eyes,  you  will  have  a  better  opportunity 
of  observing  the  poise  of  her  head,  sensi- 
tive and  sprightly  as  a  bird's  or  a  flower's. 

Now  and  then,  as    she  looks    aside,  you 
N  2  179 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

will  be  favoured  with  an  unfamiliar  view 
of  her  face — a  quarter-view,  with  her  nose 
marvellously  appearing  and  disappearing 
beyond  the  round  of  her  cheek,  as  a 
fishing-boat's  one  sail  comes  into  sight  and 
vanishes  over  a  distant  wave.  You  will 
follow,  with  little  hindrance  from  puff  and 
frill  and  flounce,  that  most  exquisite  series 
of  lines  which  begins  about  her  ear  and 
slopes  down  with  ever-varying  curve  and 
crankle  to  the  hem  of  her  skirt.  You  will 
dwell  as  long  as  you  dare  on  the  slender — 
not  too  slender — waist,  and  wish  that  the 
epithet  "buxom"  had  not  been  despoiled  of 
its  right  old  meaning  by  clumsy  mishand- 
ling. You  will  cast  one  respectful  glance 
at  the  ankles,  and  refrain,  as  you  value 
your  peace  of  mind,  from  casting  a  second. 
And  beside  her  goes  a  much-too-long- 
tailed  coat,  topped  with  a  quite  unrelated 

straw  hat,  and  borne  along  on  two  short 
1 80 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

and  agitated  legs,  which  now  stretch  into 
a  stride,  now  break  into  a  trot,  as  they 
valiantly  attempt  to  keep  pace  with  one 
whose  steps  are  tuned  each  moment  to  a 
higher  pitch  of  impatient  boredom.  And 
ever  the  scrannel  voice  toils  on,  indefatig- 
ably  ranging  the  whole  gamut  of  human 
knowledge  in  search  of  some  chord  that 
may  arrest  the  feminine  attention  and 
touch  the  feminine  heart. 

They  turned  into  the  main  street,  and 
Dorinda  had  cause  to  remember  that 
recent  events  had  made  her  a  notorious 
young  person,  and  also  to  realize  that  her 
present  escort  did  not  diminish  her  con- 
spicuousness.  The  stares  of  the  old  were 
hard  to  endure  ;  harder  the  sniggers  of 
the  young.  She  grew  desperate,  meditat- 
ing flight  ;  but  how  run  from  the  cockle- 
burr  that  has  hooked  itself  to  your  gown  ? 

Would  no  one  deliver  her  ? 
iSi 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


She  saw  Charles  Edward  approaching  ; 
but — oh,  the  fickleness  of  youth  ! — he  was 
not  alone.  Red-cheeked,  uneasily  smirk- 
ing, he  walked  beside  a  many-flounced, 
black-browed,  high-coloured  siren  of  his 
own  age.  He  did  not  even  see  her  as  he 
passed.  A  little  farther  on,  Mr.  Roscorla 
hove  into  sight  ;  but  no  Dutch  canal-boat 
was  less  adapted  than  he  for  a  cutting-out 
expedition,  even  if  he  had  not  been 
moored  fast  to  his  vigilant  sister,  and  hope- 
lessly hemmed  in  by  a  whole  flotilla  of 
cackling  women-folk. 

Now  her  heart  gave  a  great  thump,  as 
Hubert  Barron  swung  into  view  up  street. 
Here  at  last  came  the  gallant  knight  to 
rescue  her  from  this  goggle-eyed  paste- 
board dragon.  He  drew  near  ;  she  hoisted 
every  available  signal  of  distress.  He  saw 
her,  and  checked  his  progress.  His  glance 

fell  on  her  companion  ;  he  curled  a  bitter 
182 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

smile  of  reproachful  scorn,  and  hastened 
by  with  averted  head. 

She  had  long  since  ceased  to  pay  any 
attention  to  the  muddy  gutter  of  talk  that 
flowed  by  her  elbow,  but  now  her  notice 
was  drawn  by  its  sudden  stoppage  on  an 
interrogatory  note. 

"  Plaise  ?  "  she  said  indifferently. 

"  Should  value  your  particular  opinion 
on  the  subject,"  said  Albert  earnestly. 

"  What  subject  ?  "  she  was  prompted 
by  a  faint  stir  of  curiosity  to  ask. 

"  Why,  miss,  Australia,  to  be  sure  ! 
Tasmania's  all  right,  and  so's  New  Zealand, 
but  I've  got  my  misgivings  about  Austra- 
lia, as  I  said.  Some  say  island,  some  again 
say  continent,  and,  seeming  to  me,  'tis  a 
thing  that  ought  to  be  properly  cleared 
up  for  educational  purposes.  What  do 
you  think  about  it  ? " 

"  Don't  think  about  it  at  all,"  said 
183 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Dorinda    wearily.     "  How    don't     'e    go 
there  and  see  for  yourself  ?  r' 

"  Go  there  and  see  ?  "  Albert  fingered 
his  chin  over  this  unexpected  suggestion. 
"No  good,  miss,"  he  decided.  "You  see 
— if  you'll  kindly  give  me  your  atten- 
tion- -" 

She  withdrew  her  attention,  as  the 
gutter  spouted  anew.  Would  no  one 
deliver  her  ? 

A  rakish-looking  craft  was  discerned, 
hovering  to  the  windward.  A  brief  fire 
of  sidelong  glances  was  exchanged,  a 
red  flag  fluttered,  and  the  pirate  ranged 
alongside. 

"  Oh,  Harry  !  Laura  turned  'e  off 
already  ?  " 

"  Seemingly  so.  We  had  a  few  words 
about  somebody." 

"  Somebody  ?  " 

"  Prettiest  maid  to  Hender  Feast." 
184 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Here  again  I  am  tempted  to  make  use 
of  a  pretty  old  word  which  has  been  un- 
justly degraded  from  its  place  among  the 
poets'  toys.  If  George  Herbert  could 
make  the  conscious  stars  in  heaven  simper  ; 
if  Herrick  could  apply  the  same  expression 
to  the  modest  blush  on  an  apple's  cheek ; 
why  should  I  be  debarred  from  employ- 
ing it  to  denominate  the  rosy  twinkling 
coyness  of  my  heroine  ?  Boldly,  then, 
let  me  declare  that  it  was  with  a  simper 
that  Dorinda  replied — 

"  Who's  that,  I  wonder  ?  " 
"  I  know,  and  so  do  you,  I  reckon." 
His  bold  looks  scorched  her  cheek  and 
troubled  her    breathing.     Harry     Laity's 
reputation  was  no  secret  ;  there  was  not  a 
mother  in    Porthmellan   and   St.    Hender 
but  time  and  again  had  solemnly  warned 
her  daughters  against  this  too  handsome 
young  fisherman  with  the  sleepy  eye  and 
185 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

the  loose-lipped  mouth.  How  much  real 
harm  there  was  in  Harry  I  am  not  pre- 
pared at  this  juncture  to  say  ;  but  in  any 
case  I  think  Dorinda  may  be  trusted  to 
keep  out  of  actual  mischief ;  and  you  must 
be  very  hard-hearted  if  you  would  deny 
her  the  tremulous  delight  of  venturing  a 
little  way  on  the  thin  ice  beyond  the  dan- 
ger signal.  There  are  excuses  for  her  in 
plenty — Harry's  good  looks  ;  the  antici- 
pated zest  of  taking  a  hand  in  the  game  of 
games  against  a  notoriously  skilful  adver- 
sary ;  the  pressing  need  of  getting  rid  of 
one  admirer  ;  the  desire,  perhaps,  of  requit- 
ing another  of  his  scorn — all  these  are 
warrantable  motives  in  village  streets  as 
in  urban  ball-rooms. 

Meanwhile    Mr.    Albert    Hosken    was 
shifting  from   foot   to  foot  like   a  cat  on 
a    hot    slab,    and    adjusting  and    readjust- 
ing his  necktie  and  braces  in  a  manner 
1 86 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

expressive  of  the  utmost  impatience  and 
apprehension. 

"Come,  miss,"  he  broke  in  at  last. 
"  Time  to  accelerate  our  itiner'y." 

Harry  Laity  surveyed  him  deliberately 
from  head  to  foot. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  he  asked  with  cool 
insolence. 

"  'Tis  a  man,  b'lieve,  "  giggled  Dorinda. 

"  Want  a  bit  more  baking,  don't  'a  ?  " 
drawled  Harry.  "  Put  in  with  the  dough 
and  took  out  with  the  cakes,  I  reckon." 

"  Go  you  along,  young  feller  !  "  puffed 
Albert. 

"  Well,  "  said  Harry,  "  if  I  did  have  to 
pawn  my  waistcoat,  at  least  I'd  button  my 
coat  'fore  go  out." 

"  Young  feller,  go  you  along  ! "  re- 
peated Albert,  visibly  shaking,  while 
Dorinda  burst  into  a  rather  shrill  and  pro- 
longed laugh,  which  soared  and  quivered 
187 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

like  a  climbing  skylark.  And  as  the  song 
of  the  dropping  skylark  does  not  die  on  a 
cadence  as  others  do,  but  is  abruptly  cut 
off  in  the  middle  of  a  phrase  as  the  bird 
nears  the  ground,  so  Dorinda's  laughter 
was  checked  and  cut  off  as  she  found  her- 
self being  quietly  led  away  with  her  arm 
tucked  under  Harry's. 

Stupefaction  held  Albert  rooted  for  a 
moment  ;  the  next,  he  was  in  flustered 
pursuit. 

"Young  feller,  she's  bespoke!  Miss, 
you're  under  contract  for  the  evening — 
two  witnesses,  proper  shape  and  form  ! 
Miss,  miss  !  I  hold  'e  answerable — loss 
of  time,  soiled  gloves,  damaged  feelings. 
Young  feller,  I'm  a  patient  vessel,  but  I 
give  'e  warning 

Harry  halted  and  wheeled  about. 

"  Ess  ?     What's   your    'noyance  ?  "  he 

asked  amiably. 

188 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  No  offence,  mister,  "  said  Albert, 
inching  back  a  pace.  "  Nor  no  blame  to 
you,  not  knowing  the  facts.  If  you'll 
give  me  your  attention " 

"  You  wouldn'  be  disposed  to  fight, 
s'pose  ?  "  said  Harry  with  ominous  affa- 
bility. 

"  No  offence,  old  chap.  Speaking  as 
one  man  to  another,  I've  always  set  a 
valiant  face  agin  personal  bloodshed,  leave 
alone  being  the  only  support  of  my 
mother,  an  aged  and  timmersome  person 
who  do  adore  me.  But  when  it  come  to 
the  facts " 

"  You  won't  fight,  then  ?  " 

"  Never  while  I've  the  spirit  of  a  man 
in  me,  "  said  Albert  firmly.  "  But  when  I 
give  'e  the  facts,  that's  where  your  eyes  '11 
be  opened.  Now  this  young  female— 

"  Looksee, "  said  Harry,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  makes  a  generous  concession, 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  you  keep  the  facts  to  yourself,  and  I'll 
keep  the  maid  to  myself.  That's  fair 
enough,  'a  b'lieve.  So  long,  old  cap'n." 

"  Miss  !  "  exclaimed  Albert  with  a  last 
despairing  appeal.  "  With  regard  to  the 
expenses,  if  I  should  guarantee  up  to  half 
a  crown  net— 

They  looked  back  over  their  shoulders : 
Dorinda  with  a  pitiless  smile  and  head- 
shake,  Harry  with  a  contemptuously  good- 
natured  injunction  to  run  home-along  to 
his  ma  before  he  got  hurted  ;  and  Albert 
was  left  forlorn  and  lamenting. 

"  No  good  !  Missed  my  chance  again  !  " 
he  soliloquized  out  of  an  abyss  of  dejec- 
tion, and  looked  about  for  a  button  to 
cling  to. 

A  very  small  and  sticky  urchin  was 
seated  on  a  neighbouring  doorstep,  pa- 
tiently endeavouring  to  coax  a  shy  half- 
penny through  the  slit  of  a  money-box 

190 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

with  the  aid  of  a  jam-besmeared  table- 
knife.  There  is  no  occupation  more  en- 
grossing than  the  pursuit  of  wealth,  and 
its  deadening  effect  on  the  human  sym- 
pathies is  notorious  ;  but  the  note  of 
anguish  in  Albert's  voice  would  have 
pierced  the  churlish  absorption  of  a 
Daniel  Dancer.  The  juvenile  capitalist 
desisted  from  his  efforts  to  realize,  and 
with  suspended  knife  stared  open-mouthed 
at  Albert,  who  needed  no  further  encour- 
agement to  make  him  the  recipient  of  his 
gloomy  confidences. 

"  That  settles  it,  my  son  ;  I  give  up. 
Odd  man  out — that's  my  tally  to  my 
dying  day,  if  I  live  so  long  ;  and  if  another 
flood  should  come  along,  where'd  I  be  ? 
Might  so  well  go  and  drown  myself  in 
advance.  Ah  yes  !  Mark  my  words,  old 
chap,  that's  what  'twill  come  to  before  long 

— trumpery  insanity  and  a  rash  act  in  a 
191 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


mud-pool,  or  else  with  a  clothes-line  if 
more  convenient  at  the  time,  and  the 
sooner  the  better.  Tell  'e  what,  my  son  ; 
you'd  best  hide  up  that  knife  before  I  do 
something  desperate  'pon  the  spot." 

Unexpectedly  taking  him  at  his  word, 
Albert's  youthful  auditor  gathered  his  be- 
longings to  his  bosom  and  hurried  within 
doors.  Once  more  Albert  was  left  alone 
in  an  unsympathetic  world.  After  a  mo- 
ment's melancholy  reflection,  he  slowly 
elevated  his  right  leg,  bending  it  in  front 
of  him  as  he  did  so,  until  the  outside  of 
the  foot  rested  against  the  other  leg  a 
little  way  above  the  knee.  Having  at- 
tained this  position,  he  carefully  steadied 
himself  with  the  aid  of  the  cane  with  the 
silver  top,  and  attempted  to  examine  the 
sole  of  his  foot.  The  exploit,  not  with- 
out its  difficulties  for  a  long-legged  man, 

approaches  the  impossible  in  the  case  of 
192 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

one  built  on  the  model  of  a  dachshund. 
Clutching  the  foot  with  his  disengaged 
hand,  Albert  managed  to  drag  it  into  a 
position  more  convenient  for  inspection  ; 
but  the  effort  impaired  his  equilibrium; 
the  treacherous  cane  bent  beneath  his 
weight,  and  after  one  or  two  stork-like 
hops  he  was  constrained  to  become  a 
biped  once  more.  But  he  had  seen  enough 
to  confirm  his  worst  forebodings. 

"  New  last  week,"  he  mourned,  "  and  a 
good  sixpenn'orth  of  wear  and  tear  already. 
Inside  the  heel,  outside  the  toe,  or  else 
viscery  versery — that's  where  the  cobbler 
looks  for  his  emoluments.  Iron  tips  ? 
No,  I  trust  I  shall  never  descend  so  low 
as  that."  He  became  aware  of  a  fat  dame 
smiling  upon  him  close  at  hand,  and  his 
gloom  lifted  slightly  at  the  prospect  of 
a  new  listener.  "  Well,"  he  continued, 

"  'tis  a  good  observance  of  Jeremiah  that 
o  193 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


it's  not  in  man  that  walketh  to  direct  his 
steps,  and  I  reckon  he  knew  what  it  was 
to  wear  out  his  sandals.  After  all,  it's 
worse  to  be  born  with  a  wooden  leg,  and 
be  obliged  to  squander  one  out  of  every 
pair  of  boots  you  buy." 

"True,"  said  the  fat  lady.  "Dickon 
have  got  a  yarn  about  that.  'Twas  after 
a  storm  down  west,  and  a  great  big 
packing-case  come  ashore  to  a  cove,  and 
the  people  in  the  cove,  they  got  en  hided 
up  in  a  cavie  unbeknown  to  the  coast- 
guard, and  when  they  come  to  break  it 
open,  lo  and  behold  'twas  full  of  boots  and 
shoes  !  So  they  went  to  sort  'em  out  and 
try  'em  on,  and,  if  I  do  live,  those  boots 
were  left-foot  boots  every  one  !  A  brave 
disappointment  for  them  all,  as  you  may 
guess  ;  but  the  worst  was  a  man  with  a 
wooden  leg,  and  who  would  have  thought 

there  was  luck  in  the  losing  of  legs  ? — 
194 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


for  'twas  his  left  leg  was  missing,  and  the 
foot  with  it,  of  course,  and  if  it  had  only 
been  the  other  one  he'd  'a  been  set  up 
for  life  with  boots.  So  the  poor  chap,  he 
went  out  before  breakfast  and  hanged 
himself  in  his  own  fish-cellar,  and  Dickon 
says  he'd  'a  done  the  same  thing  himself 
under  the  sarcumstances,  if  he'd  been  sure 
there  was  somebody  handy  to  cut  him 
down  before  any  ser'ous  damage  was 
done." 

"  Dickon  ?  "  said  Albert.  "  Why,  'tis 
Mrs.  Varco,  'a  b'lieve." 

"  That's  of  her,"  said  the  lady.  "  As 
nat'ral  as  life,  and  twice  as  large,  as  Ann 
Pedrick  do  say.  And  what's  Albert 
Hosken  a-doing,  all  alone  on  one  leg  this 
time  of  day  ?  " 

Albert  overflowed.  "  Where's  the  fault 
to  ?  Who's  to  blame  if  you  find  me  act- 
ing like  a  pelican  in  the  wilderness  on  a 
02  195 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


day  like  this  ?  I  don't  name  no  names, 
but  your  daughter's  the  one  !  " 

"  Dorinda  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs  Varco, 
amused  and  incredulous. 

"  Dorinda,  I  daresay.  She  hadn't  the 
politeness  to  inform  me,  nor  I  hadn't  the 
bad  manners  to  ask.  Well,  Dorinda  Varco 
it  may  be,  and  Dorinda  Somewhat-or- 
other  it  will  be,  no  doubt,  but  never 
Dorinda  Hosken — make  up  your  mind  to 
that.  I've  been  slighted  before  ;  scores 
of  times  I've  been  slighted,  by  her  elders 
and  betters,  too.  I've  been  scorned  in 
satin  drawing-rooms  by  females  twice  her 
age  with  more  than  one  dead  husband  to 
their  credit.  I've  been  given  the  go-by  in 
favour  of  estate-agents  by  housekeepers  in 
titled  families.  I've  had  solid  oak  doors 
shut  in  my  face  by  persons  with  copper- 
plate visiting-cards  of  their  own,  leave 

alone  a  trayful  of  other  people's   on  the 
196 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


hall  table.  And  did  I  ever  lose  my  self- 
respect  ?  Not  so  much  as  a  crumb  of  it  ! 
One  trial  is  all  I  allow  ;  I'm  none  of  those 
you  can  turn  off  and  on  again  like  a  beer- 
tap.  No  ;  once  lost,  I'm  lost  for  ever,  as 
many  have  found  to  their  cost.  Ah ! 
there's  sore  hearts  going  around  by  the 
dozen  this  day,  if  the  truth  was  known  ; 
and  I'm  sorry  for  your  daughter — yes,  I 
can  say  so  much  as  that  in  my  free,  for- 
giving way — but  she've  only  herself  to 
blame  ;  and  as  for  the  young  chap,  she 
won't  get  much  consolation  or  credit  out 
of  him)  by  what  I  hear." 

"  What  chap's  that  you're  telling  of  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Varco  sharply,  her  maternal 
instincts  alarming  her  out  of  the  dazed 
apathy  to  which  Albert's  conversation 
habitually  reduced  his  listeners. 

"  With   regard   to   waistcoats,"   replied 

Albert,  "  there's  nothing  secret  or  under- 
197 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

hand  about  me  ;  TVe  no  occasion  to  button 
my  coat  up,  nor  my  character  neither. 
/  never  damaged  no  female  reputations, 
by  word  or  deed  ;  and  as  for  costumery, 
my  wardrobe's  open  to  inspection  any 
Sunday  afternoon  by  respectable  persons. 
A  man  that  owns  the  only  trouser-press  in 
the  parish — what  does  he  care  for  your 
slack-jawed  young  rips  from  Porthmellan 
in  their  reach-me-down  suits  ?  " 

Mrs.  Varco  repressed  a  violent  impulse 
which  bade  her  take  him  by  the  braces 
and  shake  him  as  you  shake  a  door  that 
jams  when  you  are  in  a  hurry  to  get  at  the 
contents  of  the  cupboard  within. 

"  Albert,"  she  said,  "  I  beg  of  'e,  tell  me 
where  my  daughter's  to,  and  who  she's 
with." 

"  Mind,"  he  returned,  "  you  can't  hold 
me  responsible.  I'm  guaranteed  against 

all  liability  before  witnesses,  and  I  wash 

198 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

my  hands  of  her  and  him  too.  Laugh  ? 
She  can  laugh  if  she've  a  mind  to  ;  well 
for  her  if  'tis  the  right  side  of  her  face. 
I've  set  a  whole  parish  meeting  laughing 
before  now,  and  never  made  no  joke 
neither.  Laugh  ? — ay,  the  crackling  of 
thorns  under  the  pot  ;  and  what  do  they 
come  to  ?  Dust  and  ashes  ;  and  so  for 
her,  if  she  an't  careful.  There's  many  a 
maiden  has  laughed  after  tea  and  wept 
before  supper.  Speaking  personally,  I'm 
notorious  for  my  morals,  else  her  own 
father  wouldn't  have  trusted  her  with  me. 
But  as  for  young  Laity " 

"  Harry  Laity  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Varco. 
"  Our  Dorinda  gone  off  with  Harry  Laity  ? " 

"  Haven't  I  been  telling  'e  so  all  along  ? " 
retorted  Albert,  righteously  aggrieved. 
"  But  there  !  'Tis  all  of  a  piece.  I  might 
be  a  sparrer  'pon  the  house-top  for  all  the 

attention  that's  paid  to  me;   and  the  more 
199 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

I  talk  the  less  they  listen.  Don't  wisdom 
cry  out  in  Hender  Churchtown,  same  as 
in  Jerusalem  ?  Ay,  that  she  do,  and  under- 
standing putteth  forth  her  voice  in  the 
streets  and  places  of  concourse,  bar-parlours 
and  cattle-markets.  Better  for  her  if  she 
saved  her  breath  to  cool  her  cocoa.  Ah  ! 
if  King  Solomon  and  Albert  Hosken  could 
only  get  together  for  a  quiet  chat !  There'd 
be  some  corroboration  then,  I  reckon  ;  he 
wouldn't  scorn  my  words,  simple  bachelor 
though  I  be,  and  him  the  completest 
family  man  that  ever  was.  Ah  yes,  and  a 
dressy  man  too,  by  all  accounts.  Him  and 
me  'ud  coincide  about  neckties,  I'll  be 
bound.  'Tis  written  in  the  Book  of  Kings 
that  he  got  the  linen  for  his  shirts  from 
Egypt,  and  I'd  give  something  to  know 
how  he  found  'em  for  wearing  value,  by 
comparison  with  Manchester  goods.  If  it 

wasn't  for  reversible  cuffs " 

200 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  La  bless  the  man  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Varco, 
betwixt  wrath  and  amusement  ;  "  to  hear 
'e  talk,  'tis  like  going  to  a  jumble  sale- 
cardboard  texts,  old  clothes,  everything 
but  what  you  do  want.  Which  way  did 
they  go  ?  " 

"  Well  may  you  ask.  But  I'm  roused  at 
last.  There's  wrongs  no  man  can  bear. 
Old  Harry's  at  his  tricks  with  me  at  last  ; 
I  can  feel  him  working  powerful  within. 
Darn  it  all  !  There  !  I've  sworn  an  oath. 
Mother's  great-uncle  Silas  once  cussed  the 
parson  at  a  vestry-meeting,  and  they  put 
him  in  the  stocks  for  it — two  hours  after 
morning  service  with  a  crust  of  bread  and 
a  jug  of  water.  He  was  the  only  man  to 
distinguish  himself  in  our  family  history, 
and  'twas  feared  the  strain  was  lost.  But 
blood  will  tell — be  darned  if  it  won't  ! 
Ah  !  Did  'e  hear  how  easy  it  slipped  out 

that  time  ?   Who'll  dare  to  scorn  me  now  ? 
201 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

And  if  I  can  swear,  I  can  drink.  Yes, 
I'm  under  conviction  I  can  drink,  and 
drink  I  will.  Sorry  to  interrupt  your 
conversation,  my  good  woman,  but  I'm 
off  to  the  inn  to  swig  a  noggin  of  pepper- 
mint with  the  other  roysterers.  If  all 
goes  well,  my  language  won't  be  fit  for 
female  ears  by  the  time  dark  sets  in — 
'nation  seize  me  if  'twill  !  There  agin  ! 
Better  and  better  !  Off  with  'e,  Buck 
Albert,  Devil-may-care  Bert  Ilosken,  on 
the  ran-dan  !  " 

With  a  creditable,  if  perilous,  flourish 
of  the  silver-topped  cane,  with  a  less 
successful,  but  still  praiseworthy,  essay  at 
a  swaggering  strut,  Mr.  Hosken  took  his 
new-found  manhood  off  down  the  street. 
Released  at  last,  Mrs.  Varco  went  her 
way  in  search  of  her  husband,  for  whom 
she  had  disquieting  news. 


202 


VIII 

MEANWHILE  Dorinda  and  Harry  Laity 
went  up  the  street  in  light  converse. 
Harry  was  agreeably  satirical  at  the  ex- 
pense of  various  passers-by,  and  Dorinda 
did  not  allow  herself  to  be  outdone  in 
vivacious  criticism  of  this  one's  hat  and 
that  one's  gown.  On  such  a  basis  an  easy 
intimacy  is  quickly  established.  At  the 
top  of  the  street  Harry  casually  proposed  a 
stroll  up  Love  Lane  to  Trevellas  Coombe. 
Dorinda,  ever  so  faintly  alarmed,  made 
some  demur,  and  suggested  a  return  to 
the  madding  crowd.  Harry  assented  with 
reassuring — and  irritating  —  indifference, 
and  Dorinda  changed  her  mind.  Trevellas 
Coombe  was  out  of  the  question,  but  a 

step  or  two  up  the  lane  was  quite  to  her 

203 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


fancy.  So  up  the  narrow  lane  they  went, 
between  high  banks  tapestried  with  penny- 
wort and  creeping  toadflax,  and  topped 
with  a  tangle  of  thorn  and  gorse  and  wild 
rose. 

Steered  by  Harry,  the  conversation  took 
a  personal  turn.  His  compliments  were 
a  bit  extravagant,  to  be  sure,  but  that  only 
made  them  the  easier  to  parry  and  make 
light  of.  And  compliments  were  her  due  ; 
of  that  she  had  been  thoroughly  assured 
during  the  past  few  hours.  The  glib 
compliments  merged  by  degrees  into 
downright  'love-making  ;  and  all  at  once, 
without  his  knowledge,  Harry  was  address- 
ing two  distinct  persons — a  coy  village 
maiden  who  blushed  and  giggled,  fluttered 
and  fenced,  and  a  cool  sensible  young 
woman  who  stood  oddly  apart,  reviewing 
the  situation  and  finding  it  not  altogether 

to  her  taste.     What  silly  talk  !    and  what 
204 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


silly  answers  she  was  making  !  Why  was 
she  walking  alone  in  Love  Lane  with  this 
common  young  fisherman  of  dubious 
reputation,  for  whom  in  truth  she  hadn't 
the  least  liking  ?  He  was  much  too  con- 
fident ;  he  talked  as  if  he  knew  what  he 
was  saying  without  book.  And  what  was 
he  going  to  say  next  ? 

What  he  said  next  was  sillier  than  any- 
thing he  had  said  before.  It  struck  the 
village  maiden  dumb  ;  it  resolved  the 
sensible  young  woman  on  immediate 
action. 

A  turn  of  the  lane  brought  into  view  a 
comparatively  trim  section  of  hedge,  and 
in  it  a  garden  gate.  Once  before,  years  ago, 
Dorinda  and  a  schoolfellow  had  crept  up 
to  that  gate  and  peeped  within  for  a  sight 
of  the  mazed  woman  who  lived  'pon  kettle- 
broth  and  didn'  consort  with  nobody. 

Their  fearful  curiosity  had  been  rewarded 
205 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

by  a  glimpse  of  a  small  figure  in  a  faded 
sunbonnet,  bending  over  a  border  of  blue 
flowers  ;  then,  as  the  figure  straightened 
itself  and  turned  in  their  direction,  they 
had  fled  down  the  lane  with  tossing  heels. 
In  the  light  of  maturer  information  the 
terror  in  the  sunbonnet  dwindled  to  Ann 
Coad  the  harby-woman — a  bit  peculiar, 
but  no  harm  into  her,  the  poor  wisht 
creature,  and  no  wonder  she  "  wasn't 
exactly,"  as  the  saying  went,  living  all 
alone  like  she  did,  and  the  latch  of  her 
gate  not  lifted  sometimes  for  a  week  on 
end,  whether  to  go  out  or  to  let  in.  And 
they  did  say  she'd  been  in  trouble  years 
ago  and  never  got  over  it,  though  nobody 
knowed  the  real  rights  of  it  all  ;  anyway 
she  hadn't  a  word  to  say  to  the  men  to 
this  day.  A  terrible  fine  musicianer,  too, 
or  so  they  said  else  ;  and  pleasant-spoken 

enough,  if  you  could  get  mouth-speech  of 
206 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


her,  and  she  didn'  take  and  run  at  the 
sight  of  'e  ;  and  her  harby-tay  was  wonder- 
ful strong  and  comforting,  sure  enough. 

So  much  Dorinda  called  to  mind,  and 
determined  to  seek  refuge  within  the 
gate.  She  began  to  cast  about  for  a 
plausible  excuse  for  quitting  Harry's  com- 
pany. It  would  look  silly  to  run  off 
without  an  ostensible  reason,  and  it 
mightn't  be  safe.  Memory  furnished  an 
inspiration. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  clapping  her  hand 
to  the  back  of  her  head.  "  My  hair's 
coming  down  !  " 

A  wavy  tress  fell  on  her  shoulder  for 
corroboration.  Harry's  sleepy  eyes  kindled 
at  the  sight  of  the  charming  disarray. 

"  Leave  en  bide  as  'tis,"  he  whispered. 
"  Us  don't  want  to  be  stiff  and  proper 
together,  do  us  ?  And  you  do  look  fifty 

times  so  sweet  and  pretty  like  that."     He 

207 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

caught  her  waist.  "  The  sweetest,  pret- 
tiest little  rogue  of  a  maid  I  ever  set  eyes 
on.  I  don't  hardly  know  what  I'm  saying 
or  doing  when  I  look  upon  'e." 

She  strained  away  from  him,  with  lips 
set  against  a  scream. 

"  Silly  little  maid  !  "  he  said.  "  Ben't 
afraid  of  me,  are  'e  ?  Look  now — we  '11 
go  up  by  Trevellas  Coombe,  and  I'll  put 
your  hair  tidy  myself.  Such  a  handy 
chap  as  I  am,  you  wouldn'  believe.  Nor 
I  won't  ask  no  payment,  without  'tis  one 
little  kiss." 

They  were  still  a  few  yards  from  the 
gate.  Dorinda  steadied  herself,  and 
temporized. 

"  Poor  wages,  I  reckon,"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  dare  ask  no  more,"  said 
Harry.  "  But  I'll  leave  en  to  you.  Such 
a  kind-hearted  little  beauty  as  you  are,  you 

wouldn't  be  stingy  with  a  chap,  I   know." 
208 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  That's  as  may  be,"  she  returned,  and 
looked  him  full  in  the  face  with  valiant 
coquetry.  His  face  came  nearer — the 
nasty  grinning  toad  !  It  was  hard  to 
keep  it  up,  but  she  managed  a  natural 
little  laugh  as  she  flung  her  head  back. 

"  No  wages  in  advance  !  "  she  said  ;  and 
then,  with  a  pretty  appealing  timidity  : 
"  You'll  take  your  arm  away  till  we've 
passed  the  gate  ?  " 

"  'Tis  a  lot  to  ask,"  said  the  gallant  ; 
"  but  even  if  'twas  more,  I  couldn'  say 
'  no  '  to  'e  for  my  soul.  Mustn'  shock 
old  Mother  Ann,  must  we  ?  " 

His  arm  was  withdrawn  as  they  came 
level  with  the  gate.  The  gate  was  ajar5 
offering  no  impediment  to  flight,  and  the 
faint  long-drawn  wail  of  a  harmonium 
indicated  that  Ann  Coad  was  at  home. 
It  was  now  or  never  ;  yet  for  two  paces 

she    dallied    with    her    resolution.       Still 
p  209 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

another  Dorinda  emerged — a  wavering 
sceptic  who  asked  herself  what  unbeliev- 
able story-book  nonsense  this  might  be  : 
Dorinda  Varco  of  Sunny  Corner,  treading 
the  palpable  ground  of  a  commonplace 
St.  Render  lane,  and  playing  Lady  Enid 
to  the  Sir  Jasper  of  Harry  Laity  !  Silly, 
incredible  stuff  ! 

She  felt  his  arm  creeping  round  her 
again.  A  quick  glance  revealed  his  teeth 
gleaming  in  a  hateful  smile,  and  at  the 
sight  her  whole  body  revolted  and  took 
the  command  of  her  brain.  She  whipped 
aside,  doubled  back,  and  in  a  moment  was 
panting  up  the  garden  path  behind  the 
slammed  gate. 

The  border  of  blue  flowers  was  still 
there.  What  was  Harry  calling  out  to 
her  ?  And  what  dismal  old  tune  was  Ann 
Coad  playing  ?  At  the  cottage  door  she 

collected  her  wits   and  turned.      He  was 
210 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

at  the  gate,  smiling.  She  felt  sick  and 
faint  ;  as  she  looked,  he  dwindled  and 
was  removed  to  a  great  distance. 

"  What's  up  with  the  dear  little  maid  ? " 
he  called  from  afar. 

She  summoned  strength  to  wave  him 
away. 

"  Don't  be  so  foolish  as  you  are,"  he 
urged.  "  Can't  think  what  I've  done,  that 
you  should  treat  me  like  this." 

Keeping  her  eyes  on  him,  she  lifted  her 
hand  to  tap  at  the  door. 

"  I'll  wait,  then,"  he  said,  no  longer 
smiling.  "  I'd  wait  for  'e  till  doomsday. 
You'm  worth  it." 

Still  the  slow  music  wailed  within. 
Dorinda  knocked.  The  music  hung 
suspended  on  a  chord,  and  sighed  away  to 
nothingness.  An  initiate  of  the  instrument 
would  have  diagnosed  a  sudden  cessation 

of    the    motion    of   the    bellows.     Harry 
p  2  an 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

opened  the  gate,  and  Dorinda,  hurriedly 
trying  the  latch,  discovered  that  the  door 
was  fastened  inside.  The  arrested  chord 
swelled  on  the  air  again,  and  the  music 
went  on  through  half  a  dozen  quavering 
bars  to  its  final  cadence.  Harry  took  a 
step  or  two  up  the  path.  Cold  with 
terror,  Dorinda  was  raising  her  fists  for  a 
frenzied  assault  on  the  door,  when  a  bolt 
was  drawn  and  the  door  opened  a  little 
way.  Dorinda  pushed  in  and  shut  the 
door  behind  her. 

A  small  grey  woman  backed  against  the 
wall,  stammering  a  frightened  apology. 

"  Sorry  to  keep  'e  waiting,  but  I  got 
to  finish  the  tune.  If  you  break  a 
tune,  it  hurt,  if  you  understand.  Like 
a  soul  cut  off  and  set  wandering  before 
its  time.  Your  —  your  hair's  coming 
down." 

Dorinda   poured    out    an    explanation. 


212 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


The  little  woman   listened  with  her  eyes 
on  the  ground. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  when  Dorinda  was 
silent.  "  I  haven'  forgot.  I  could  give 
'e  his  words.  But  it  take  some  sense  and 
bravery  to  run  away  from  'em.  Will  'e 
step  inside,  then  ?  " 

Dorinda  went  to  the  window.  Harry 
had  gone  back  to  the  gate,  and  was  loung- 
ing over  it  in  a  comfortable  attitude. 

"  He's  waiting  !  "  cried  Dorinda,  catch- 
ing the  little  woman's  arm.  "He  said 
he'd  wait.  Oh,  what's  to  be  done  ?  " 

Ann  Coad  flushed  and  stiffened.  "The 
impident  rogue  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  With 
his  elbows  on  my  gate  !  "  She  apostro- 
phized the  unconscious  Harry.  "  Aw,  the 
great  ugly  rogue  of  'e !  Take  thyself  off 
o'  my  gate  and  go  'bout  thy  wicked 
business,  will  'e  ?  " 

"  Send    him    away  !  "    cried    Dorinda  ; 
213 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


and  for  the  second  time  on  this  momen- 
tous day  she  burst  into  hysterical  tears. 

"  Don't  take  on  so,"  fluttered  Ann. 
"  He  can't  touch  'e  here.  You  can  stay 

J 

so  long  as  you  Ve  a  mind  to.     We  'm  quite 
safe.      I'll  slip  the  bolt  again." 

"  Send  him  away  !  "  sobbed  Dorinda. 
"  I  can't  bear  it  !  Grinning  over  the  gate 
there  !  Send  him  away  !  " 

Ann's  colour  faded.  "  He  won't  go  for 
the  likes  of  me/'  she  faltered. 

Dorinda  stamped  her  foot.  "  Send  him 
away  !  "  she  repeated. 

«  I — I'm  afraid,"  said  Ann  Coad.  "  I 
haven'  faced  a  man,  not  since " 

"  He  won't  touch  you  I  Coward  !  Send 
him  away  !  Send •" 

"  Aw,  my  dear  life,  what's  to  be  done  ? ': 
cried  Ann,  wringing  her  hands,  while 
Dorinda  laughed  and  wailed.  "  Don't  'e 

take  on  so,  then  !     I'll   do   it,  so   I  will. 
214 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


He  won't  touch  the  likes  of  me,  as  you 
say.     There  ;   I'm  going  this  minute." 

Dorinda's  frenzy  died  down  ;  tired  and 
listless,  she  watched  the  upshot  from  the 
window,  as  it  might  be  some  uninteresting 
show  in  which  she  had  no  personal  con- 
cern. If  there  were  any  amusement  left 
in  the  world,  she  might  even  have  smiled 
at  the  sight  of  Ann  Coad  advancing  on 
the  adversary  with  the  gestures  of  one 
who  drives  an  intrusive  cow  from  a  cab- 
bage-bed. Now  the  two  were  face  to 
face  at  arm's-Jength,  and  things  were  being 
said  by  Ann  in  a  shrill  pipe,  without 
evoking  any  reponse  beyond  an  insolent 
smile  from  Harry.  At  last  Harry  leisur- 
ably  detached  himself  from  the  gate, 
waved  a  mock-respectful  farewell,  and 
lounged  out  of  sight.  The  dull  show  was 
over.  Dorinda  sank  back  in  her  chair 

and  closed  her  eyes. 

215 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

She  opened  them  to  find  Ann  Coad 
standing  beside  her,  breathless  and  elate. 

"  Gone  off  like  a  lamb,  my  dear  !  "  she 
boasted.  "  Called  en  everything  but  a 
man,  I  did,  and  'a  couldn'  take  it  up  for 
his  life.  He  Ve  larned  his  lesson,  sure 
enough,  the  low,  mean  blaggurd.  That's 
what  I  called  en  to  his  face.  'You  low, 
mean  blaggurd,'  I  said,  'just  you  take  your 
great  long  arms  off  o'  my  gate,  and  go 
'bout  your  dirty  business,'  I  said  ;  and  'a 
couldn'  find  a  word  to  answer  me  back — 
couldn'  do  nothing  but  just  grizzle  upon 
me  like  a  chancy  cat — looked  some  foolish, 

I  can  tell  'e.  So  I  said But  you  'm 

looking  terrible  wisht,  my  dear." 

Dorinda  wanly  apologized.  She  couldn't 
think  how  she  came  to  be  so  silly.  And 
the  way  she  had  been  behaving  to  her 
hostess 

"  My   dear,    don't    matter   about    that. 
216 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


If  it  hadn'  been  for  you,  I'd  have  gone  to 
my  grave  and  never  stood  up  to  a  bad 
man  and  told  en  what  I  thought  of  en. 
I'm  glad  I  got  the  chance.  But  you  'm 
looking  dreadful  poorly.  Must  see  what 
I  can  do  for  'e." 

From  a  cupboard  she  selected  one  from 
a  great  array  of  bottles,  and  poured  some 
of  the  contents  into  a  cup. 

"  Take  and  drink  to  that,"  she  said. 
"  There's  ten  different  harbs  into  en,  and 
one  of  'em's  borage — grand  stuff  for  putting 
a  heart  into  a  person.  '  I,  borage,  bring 
courage ' — that's  a  good  old  observance. 
But  you've  got  to  take  it  with  a  spoon, 
and  you've  got  to  have  faith — 'tisn'  no 
good  else.  Have  'e  faith  ?  " 

"Yes,  s'pose,"  said  Dorinda,  doubtfully 
inspecting  the  uninviting  liquid. 

"  Here's    a    spoon,    then.     And    while 

you're  supping  to  it,  I'll  play  a  tune,  if 

217 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

you  don't  mind.  I'm  a  bit  shook  up  my- 
self, and  there's  nothing  like  music  for 
settling  the  spirits." 

Dorinda  having  politely  expressed  her 
delighted  acquiescence,  Ann  seated  her- 
self at  the  keys  of  a  diminutive  harmo- 
nium, and  turned  over  the  leaves  of  a 
small  oblong  book,  in  which,  as  Dorinda 
idly  noted,  the  music  was  not  printed,  but 
written  off  by  hand. 

"  You  won't  hear  none  of  these  tunes 
elsewhere,"  remarked  Ann  over  her 
shoulder  ;  "  the  real  genuine  old  psalm 
tunes,  dead  and  gone  to  all  the  world  these 
many  year.  They  don't  make  no  such 
tunes  nowadays.  Moody  and  Sankey 
come  up  when  I  was  a  young  maiden, 
but  I  never  took  to  'em.  You  could  fancy 
yourself  dancing  to  Moody  and  Sankey, 
but  you  couldn'  even  tap  your  foot  to 

these.      Real  sacred  music,  sure  enough." 
218 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

She  fluttered  a  leaf  or  two.  "  Dissolution, 
Plymouth  Rock,  Sprowston  Lodge,  Old 
Ninetieth — that's  a  grand  old  melody  ; 
I'll  give  'e  that." 

The  bellows  creaked  and  wheezed,  and 
Old  Ninetieth  went  on  its  way  at  an  ap- 
propriately patriarchal  pace,  with  a  senile 
pause  for  deliberation  between  each  step. 
Sipping  her  draught,  which  fortunately 
didn't  taste  as  bad  as  it  looked,  Dorinda 
delivered  unfavourable  judgment  on  the 
grand  old  melody.  If  this  was  the  famed 
music  of  her  forefathers,  then  give  her 
Moody  and  Sankey  for  choice.  Wisht 
melancholy  stuff,  to  be  sure  !  And  old 
Ann,  with  her  tightly  drawn  grey  top- 
knot swaying  forth  and  back,  her  thin 
elbows  jerking  in  and  out,  and  her  knees 
bobbing  up  and  down — was  there  ever  so 
queer  a  sight  ? 

Old   Ninetieth   staggered    his  last  step 

219 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


and  gave  up  the  ghost.     When  Ann  Coad 
turned  about,  her  eyes  were  moist. 

"  Grand,  edn'  'a  ?  >:  she  said  with  a 
sniff.  "  If  'twasn'  for  music,  I'd  be  a 
hard  bitter  woman,  and  no  blame  to  me 
neither.  But  whenever  I  do  feel  that 
way,  I've  only  got  to  set  down  and  strike 
up,  and  my  heart-strings  are  loosened 
to  once  .  .  .  Shall  I  do  up  your  hair 
for  'e  ?  " 

Dorinda  thought  she  could  do  it  very 
well  herself,  if  she  had  a  looking-glass. 

"  My  dear,  if  you'll  believe  me,  I 
haven'  got  no  such  thing  in  the  house. 
A  bucket  of  water  've  been  more  'n  enough 
for  my  vanities  these  twenty  year  and 
more.  What  do  'e  think  o'  that,  now  ?  " 

Dorinda  did  what  was  obviously  ex- 
pected of  her  in  the  way  of  astonishment. 

"  A  poor  weed  like  me  !  "  said  Ann 
with  proud  humility.  "  But  I'd  like  to  do 


220 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

it  up  for  'e,  if  you  don't  mind.  But 
p'r'aps  you'd  rather  I  didn'  touch  'e. 
There's  some  maidens — well,  they've  the 
right,  s'pose " 

Dorinda  immediately  removed  her  hat 
and  turned  her  back,  casually  remarking 
that  the  necessary  hairpins  would  be  easy 
to  find  and  safe  to  remove,  as  the  struc- 
ture had  originally  contained  no  fewer  than 
thirty-five  of  them. 

"  Thirty-five  !  "  exclaimed  her  hostess, 
gently  handling  the  loosened  tresses. 
"  Nor  I  don't  wonder,  though,  so  fine 
and  thick  as  'tis.  Mine  never  wadn'  up 
to  much — thin  and  mean-coloured.  But 
I  had  a  delicate  shape,  or  so  they  said 
else,  and  a  skin  to  match  a  rose-leaf  ;  and 
so  much  the  worse  for  me.  Better-fit 
I'd  been  one  of  these  coarse  lumpy  ones." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  Dorinda  felt 
fingers  nervously  a-quiver  in  her  hair. 


221 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


"  Don't  look  round,  my  dear,"  said 
Ann  softly.  Dorinda  obediently  kept 
still,  and  Ann  began  the  story  which  no 
one  in  St.  Render  had  ever  got  the  real 
rights  of.  There  was  nothing  remark- 
able about  it  ;  a  country  maiden  does  not 
attain  the  age  of  seventeen  without  hear- 
ing its  counterpart  a  dozen  times.  A 
shabby  stumbling  little  tale,  from  which 
all  the  colour  had  long  since  faded  :  but 
circumstances  combined  to  impress  it 
vividly  on  Dorinda's  imagination.  The 
light  of  recent  events  was  lurid  upon  it. 
It  was  being  told,  not  by  a  furtive  school- 
fellow behind  a  raised  desk,  nor  by  an 
elderly  gossip  who  parried  whispered 
maternal  remonstrances  by  declaring  that 
the  sooner  the  child  know  about  such 
things  the  better,  but  by  the  pitiful 
heroine  herself  to  a  sister-woman — a  real 
grown-up  person  whom  she  had  chosen 

222 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

to  be  the  exclusive  recipient  of  her  con- 
fidence. And  in  place  of  the  visible  looks 
and  gestures  which  eke  out  a  story,  as  it  is 
ordinarily  told,  there  came  now  and  again 
the  touch  of  unseen  fingers  that  moved 
gently  in  her  hair. 

The  story  approached  its  end. 

"  The  li'll  cheeld  didn'  live  to  be  reared. 
'Twas  a  maid — so  I  was  told.  I  didn' 
know  nothing  ;  I  was  afflicted  in  my 
mind  for  the  time.  When  I  got  better, 
they  wanted  me  to  stay  at  home,  but  I 
wouldn't.  I  went  into  sarvice  up  the 
country — same  place  for  seven  year  ; 
thought  a  lot  of  me,  they  did.  Then 
uncle  died  and  left  me  a  bit  of  money, 
and  I  came  here.  Been  here  ever  since, 
doing  my  poor  little  bit  o'  good  in  the 
world  with  my  harbs.  I  don't  take  no 
payment  for  my  harbs  ;  shouldn'  make 

much   if   I    did.     They    ben't    much    in 
223 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


vogue  now."  The  fingers  were  busy 
through  a  few  silent  moments.  "  Kept 
myself  quiet  all  the  time,  but  you  can't 
stop  things  getting  about.  Don't  matter 
for  that.  'Tisn'  what  people  do  think — 
though,  mind  'e,  'tis  foolish  to  scorn  what 
people  do  think.  'Tis  what  /  do  think  ; 
'tis  the  shame  for  my  own  foolishness  in 
trusting  the  man.  I  never  got  over  it, 
nor  I  never  shall.  Sometimes  I  should 
wake  up  of  a  night  with  it  burning  on 
me.  And  now  your  hair's  done,  my  dear, 
so  well  as  I  can  do  it." 

Standing  up,  and  verifying  the  adjust- 
ment of  her  tresses,  Dorinda  expressed 
her  opinion  of  the  opposite  sex  in  no 
measured  terms.  They  were  all  alike, 
and  she  was  resolved  to  have  no  truck 
with  them  henceforth.  Ann  shook  her 
head,  the  ghost  of  a  smile  hovering  on 

her  lips. 

224 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  Don't  mind  my  talk,"  she  said. 
"  I'm  an  old  afflicted  shadder  of  a  person. 
You  'm  a  lively,  handsome  young  woman, 
with  plenty  of  sense  and  spirit,  that  just 
wanted  a  lesson  to  put  'e  to  rights  ;  and 
you've  had  it,  cheap.  You'll  do  very 
well  now,  with  all  the  brisk  honest  young 
chaps  in  the  place  round  'e.  And  p'r'aps 
you'd  like  to  look  round  my  garden  before 
you  get  back-along." 

Reminded  of  the  necessity  of  getting 
back-along,  Dorinda  had  an  affrighting 
vision  of  Harry  lurking  somewhere  in 
the  lane. 

"  I  could  come  with  'e  to  the  end  of 
the  lane,"  said  Ann,  divining  her  fears. 
"  If  he's  anywhere  about,  he  won't  dare 
face  me  agin,  you  may  be  sure." 

Before  leaving  the  room  in  which  she 
had  been  sheltered  from  danger  and  en- 
tertained with  music  and  medicine  and 
Q  225 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

flattering  confidences,  Dorinda  had  a  ter- 
rible mind  to  hug  her  queer  hostess.  But 
she  allowed  the  opportunity  to  slip,  and 
only  the  impulse  can  be  placed  to  her 
credit. 

Ann  Coad  led  the  way  into  the  garden. 
As  you  go  about  the  West  Country,  you 
will  take  note,  if  you  are  botanically 
inclined,  of  the  neglected  simples  that 
everywhere  linger  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  human  habitations,  perching  on  the 
walls  of  farmyards,  struggling  to  main- 
tain a  foothold  on  rubbish-heaps.  Their 
strange  and  vigorous  faculties  are  fast 
passing  into  oblivion,  but  they  are  used 
to  the  company  of  man,  and  hang 
about  him  (as  you  like  to  think)  in  the 
hope  of  being  taken  into  favour  again. 
They  have  lost  all  taste — if  the  taste 
was  ever  theirs — for  the  wild  disorderly 

life    of    the    commons    and    hedge-rows. 
226 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

They  have  seen  better  days  ;  once  they 
were  looked  up  to  and  waited  on  in  their 
ordered  beds  ;  but  now  their  decayed 
gentility  sits  forlorn  on  dunghills,  and  the 
farmer's  wife,  returned  from  market  with 
the  latest  thing  in  patent  pills  in  her 
basket,  steps  from  her  trap  and  goes 
indoors  without  wasting  a  glance  upon 
them. 

In  Ann  Goad's  garden  these  patient 
outcasts  found  safe  refuge  and  honourable 
treatment.  Here  was  that  famous  bor- 
age, whose  very  look  inspires  confidence  ; 
for  who  can  behold  that  face  of  heavenly 
blue  and  doubt  its  transcendent  virtue  ? 
Some  indeed  have  conjectured  that  it  was 
the  sole  ingredient  of  Helen's  commended 
bowl,  with  which  she  expelled  the  melan- 
choly from  the  breasts  of  her  husband  and 
Telemachus  his  guest.  Here  too  was  its 

cousin,  the  hardly  less  renowned  bugloss  ; 
Q  *  227 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


tansy,  the  paschal  herb,  bitter  but  good  ; 
mugwort,  first  and  eldest  of  the  Nine 
Mighty  Herbs  of  our  forefathers  ;  aro- 
matic fever-few  and  camomile,  for  colds 
and  calentures ;  agrimony  and  fennel,  for 
purging  the  eyesight  ;  magical  vervain, 
which  the  Druids  gathered  with  a  silver 
sickle  ;  steel-blue  seaholm,  whose  candied 
roots  dispel  all  pains,  heal  consumption, 
and  restore  the  spirits  ;  and  who  knows 
how  many  more  !  on  whose  various  merits 
Ann  discoursed  at  length,  while  Dorinda 
did  her  best  to  display  an  intelligent  in- 
terest in  what  she  mentally  stigmatized  as 
a  parcel  of  old  weeds.  Ann  was  a  good 
old  soul,  and  Dorinda  was  immensely 
grateful  to  her  ;  but,  after  all,  this  was 
Hender  Feast-day,  and  the  moments  were 
too  precious  to  squander  in  listening  to 
dull  quotations  from  anybody  bearing 

such  an  absurd  name  as  Culpepper. 
228 


Near  the  gate  Ann  suddenly  broke  off 
to  listen. 

"  Somebody's  coming  up  the  lane,"  she 
said.  "You  keep  behind  me  while  I 
look." 

Cautiously  reconnoitring,  she  announced 
the  approach  of  two  people,  an  old  man 
and  a  boy.  Dorinda  ventured  to  peep, 
and  at  once  laughed  a  recognition  of 
Charles  Edward  and  his  uncle  Lazarus. 
Explaining  to  Ann  that  these  were  friends 
who  would  see  her  safely  back,  she 
thanked  her  prettily  for  her  kindness,  and 
added,  as  in  duty  bound,  that  she  would 
come  and  see  her  again  some  time. 

Ann  was  already  shrinking  back  into 
the  solitary  self  from  which  Dorinda's 
dramatic  advent  had  stirred  her.  "I  don't 
look  for  that,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head, 
"  nor  I  don't  wish  it  neither,  if  you  don't 

mind  my  saying  so — without  you  should 
229 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

be  wanting  harbs.  P'r'aps  we  shouldn' 
get  on  so  well  another  time.  I  ben't 
going  to  risk  it.  I  shall  be  thinking  a 
brave  lot  about  the  pretty  face  of  'e,  but 
I'm  bound  to  go  on  keeping  to  myself. 
So  good-bye,  and  wish  'e  well/' 

She  faded  up  the  path.  Dorinda 
looked  after  her  for  a  moment,  vexed  and 
puzzled  ;  then  with  a  shrug  she  shut  the 
gate  on  Ann  Coad,  and  went  smiling 
down  the  lane  to  meet  her  friends. 

"  What  be  a-doen  up  'ere-along,  you  ? ' 
she  sang,  in  the  rustic  drawl  which  she 
and  Charlie  sometimes  affected,  for  drol- 
lery, and  to  set  off  the  refinement  of  their 
normal  accents. 

Mr.  Roscorla's  architectural  smile  was 
exhibited  in  all  its  massive  grandeur, 
quite  dwarfing  Charles  Edward's  feebler 
effort. 

"  Come  to  fetch  'e,"  said  the  latter. 
230 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  Awful  good  of  'e,  I'm  sure  !  "  ex- 
claimed Dorinda,  tossing  her  head  ;  and 
along  the  lane  they  went,  the  aged  ox 
and  the  callow  calf  on  either  side,  the 
sprightly  young  heifer  in  the  middle. 
If  you  have  ever  properly  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  young  Alderney  heifer — 
a  little  patience  and  a  handful  of  salt  will 
do  the  trick — you  will  accept  the  trope 
with  enthusiasm. 

"  What's  everybody  doing  without 
me  ?  "  asked  Dorinda. 

"  Your  father's  searching  for  'e  down- 
along,  and  your  mother's  waiting  for 
news  of  'e  in  the  churchyard,  and  aunt's 
staying  by  her — to  cheer  her  up,  she 
says." 

"  My  life,  what  a  fuss  !  Can  take  care 
of  myself,  s'pose." 

Charles  Edward  grinned  uneasily,  and 

returned  no  answer. 
231 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


"  And  what's  Hubert  doing  ?  He  isn't 
searching  around  too,  surely  ?  " 

"  Hubert  was  walking  with  Laura  Pen- 
gelly,  last  I  see  him,"  replied  Charlie. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Dorinda,  biting  her  lip. 
"  Well,  the  poor  chap  must  have  some- 
body," she  conceded.  "  And  what  have 
'e  done  with  May  Tregilgas  ?  Oh,  Char- 
lie !  /  saw  you  !  And  how  my  poor  old 
heart  did  thump  ! " 

"  Don't  want  to  hear  nothing  about 
May  Tregilgas,"  said  Charlie  with  some 
heat. 

"  Slighted  again  ?  "  laughed  Dorinda. 

Charlie  nodded.  "  These  women  !  "  he 
ejaculated. 

"  Poor  Charlie  !  'Twill  be  a  lesson  to 
'e.  We  ben't  to  be  trusted,  that's  certain. 
But,  Charlie,  how  come  you  to  be  looking 
for  me  up  here  ?  " 

"  That  was  uncle,"  explained  Charlie. 
232 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


"  I  wanted  to  keep  along  the  road,  but  he 
said  he  reckoned  you'd  gone  up  Love 
Lane." 

"  Oh,  he  did,  did  he  ?  "  Dorinda  turned 
on  Mr.  Roscorla,  placidly  plodding  at  her 
elbow.  "  What's  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 
she  severely  inquired.  "  How  should  you 
reckon  I'd  gone  up  Love  Lane,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  " 

The  muscles  at  the  outer  corner  of  Mr. 
Roscorla's  inner  eye  suffered  a  slow  and 
painful  contraction. 

"  I  was  a  frolicsome  young  spark  once," 
he  said. 


233 


IX 

IN  the  deserted  churchyard  a  low- 
spirited  trio  of  staid  folk  started  into 
animation  at  the  approach  of  Dorinda 
and  her  escort.  Advancing  a  step  in 
front  of  his  wife  and  Miss  Roscorla, 
Mr.  Varco  set  a  hand  on  each  of  his 
daughter's  shoulders,  and  closely  scanned 
her  face.  Dorinda's  colour  deepened  to 
scarlet,  but  her  eyes  met  the  scrutiny 
bravely  enough. 

"  All  right,  mother  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"Just  a  bit  of  a  smut,  side  of  her  nose, 
but  that's  soon  got  rids  of."  The  crimson 
table-cloth  was  gravely  brought  into  re- 
quisition. "There;  now  go  and  kiss 
your  ma,  like  the  good  clane  maid  you 
are." 

234 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  But    there  wadn'    no    smut    that    I 
could    see,"  cried    Miss  Roscorla. 

"  Hush  !  "  breathed  Mrs.  Varco  with 
a  composite  laugh  and  sigh,  as  Dorinda 
emerged  from  her  capacious  embrace. 
"  'Tis  only  one  of  Dickon's  quips." 

"  I  can  take  up  a  quip  so  quick  as 
anybody,"  said  Miss  Roscorla.  "  But  I 
don't  see  the  fun  of  saying  there's  a 
smut  when  there  an't  no  such  thing. 
If  that's  the  way  to  concoct  a  quip,  'tis 
as  easy  as  lying,  and  terrible  like  it  too. 
But  I'm  glad  you  'm  back  again  safe  and 
sound,  Dorinda,  and  I  hope  'twill  be  a 
warning  to  'e  after  the  anxious  time 
we've  had  about  'e,  knowing  how  easy 
'tis  for  a  young  maiden  to  be  led 
astray " 

We   give  Miss  Roscorla  all   credit  for 
the  best  intentions,   but  isn't   she  taking 
a   little   too   much   upon   herself  ?    There 
235 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

was  a  general  stir  in  Dorinda's  defence. 
Mrs.  Varco  nudged  her  officious  friend, 
and  whispered,  "  Hush  then,  will  'e  ?  " 
quite  sharply  ;  Mr.  Roscorla  cleared 
his  throat  with  surprising  alacrity  ; 
Charles  Edward  tugged  viciously  at  his 
own  hair  ;  and  Dickon  raised  his  voice 
in  a  loud  reminder  that  the  snake-walk 
was  to  begin  at  eight  o'clock,  and  that 
it  was  time  to  be  getting  round  to  the 
meadow  if  folk  didn't  want  to  miss  the 
great  fun  of  all.  Miss  Roscorla  bated 
her  breath  to  a  murmured  justification 
of  words  in  due  season,  and  the  party 
moved  off,  Dorinda  walking  ahead  with 
her  father,  her  faithful  knight  and  squire 
following  next,  and  the  elder  ladies  bring- 
ing up  the  rear. 

Possessed  by  the  setting  sun,  the  glebe 
meadow  was  a  great  shining  hall  of  light, 

across    which    gigantic    shadows    stalked, 
236 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

with  small  mortals  attached  to  them. 
In  the  centre  stood  a  man  with  a  flag. 
Behind  him,  two  by  two  in  processional 
order,  were  ranged  the  Harmonious  Re- 
chabites,  from  the  shrill  cornets  to  the 
gruff  euphoniums.  Then  came  the  big 
drum,  with  a  little  drummer  clinging  to 
it  like  an  ant  on  a  gooseberry,  and  there- 
after a  train  of  couples,  brief  at  present, 
but  lengthening  every  moment. 

Dorinda  was  not  looking  out  for  any- 
body in  particular,  but  she  could  not  help 
noticing  somebody,  and  Laura  Pengelly 
with  him,  sure  enough,  going  across  the 
meadow  to  take  their  places.  Arm-acrook, 
too  ;  but  that  didn't  mean  anything  ; 
you  had  to  go  arm-acrook  in  the  snake- 
walk.  Laura  was  hanging  on  his  arm  as 
if  she  belonged  there  permanently  ;  but 
that  again  didn't  mean  much  ;  Laura 
would  do  the  same  by  anything  in 
237 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

trousers,  when  the  opportunity  afforded. 
And  it  didn't  matter,  anyhow;  and  any- 
how she  had  no  right  to  complain  of 
Hubert's  behaviour,  or  Laura's,  or  any- 
body's. And  maybe,  if  it  came  to  a  tug 
of  war,  she  might  prove  a  match  for  any 
of  your  freckled,  sandy-haired  St.  Hender 
dumplings.  Meanwhile,  whether  she 
deserved  it  or  not,  it  was  not  altogether 
pleasant  to  be  left  out  of  the  great  fun 
of  all  for  lack  of  an  escort. 

"  Come  along,  daddy,"  she  said  tapping 
her  foot. 

Mr.  Varco  affected  amazement.  "  Don't 
'e  do  anything  so  desperate  as  that  !  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  Go  snake-walking  with  your 
own  father,  when  there's  staid  bachelors 
a-hovering  around  with  their  arms  all 
ready  crooked  for  'e  !  Besides,  your  ma 
'ud  be  jalous  if  I  didn't  ask  her" 

"Now,  Dickon!"  protested  Mrs.  Varco. 
238 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  When  my  breathing  wouldn'  carr'  me 
once  round,  as  you  do  very  well  know  ! 
If  you  can  call  it  breathing,  when  'tidn' 
no  more  than  two  gasps  and  a  guggle  all 
the  while." 

"  Then  I'm  free  to  foller  my  own 
heart,"  said  her  husband,  offering  his  arm 
with  insinuating  gallantry  to  Miss  Roseola. 
At  the  same  moment  Dorinda  felt  the 
pressure  of  something  hard  against  her 
side,  and  discovered  it  to  be  the  point  of 
an  elbow.  If  anything  I  have  said  has  led 
you  to  infer  that  Mr.  Roscorla  was  slow  to 
take  a  hint,  let  that  saying  be  cancelled 
and  obliterated  from  your  memory.  There 
he  stood,  brown  and  knotty  and  emotion- 
less as  Lord  Derby  himself,  with  one 
crooked  branch  rigidly  extended  for  the 
maid  to  swing  on.  The  silent  invitation 
was  not  to  be  resisted. 

"  We'll  keep   together    so   close  as  we 
239 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

can,"  said  Mr.  Roscorla's  ever-vigilant 
sister,  taking  Dickon's  arm. 

"  So  close  as  we  can,"  echoed  Dickon 
with  a  wink.  "And  everybody  to  meet 
outside  the  inn  at  nine  o'clock." 

The  couples  were  now  hurrying  up  thick 
and  fast,  and  the  place  which  Dorinda  and 
her  partner  took  in  the  tail  of  the  proces- 
sion was  soon  a  place  well  in  the  middle. 
Hubert  and  Laura  were  a  little  way  in 
front  ;  Mr.  Varco  and  Miss  Roscorla, 
thanks  to  some  malicious  manoeuvre  on 
the  part  of  the  former,  were  an  indistin- 
guishable distance  in  the  rear.  Presently 
the  influx  slackened  and  ceased.  The 
guardian  of  the  flag  jerked  it  out  of  the 
ground,  and  lifted  it  on  high  ;  the  Har- 
monious Rechabites  shook  the  last  drops 
of  accumulated  moisture  from  their  instru- 
ments and  raised  them  to  their  mouths  ; 

the  little  big-drummer  set  the  pace  with 

240 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

three  resounding  thwacks  ;  the  two  pretty 
girls  next  behind  him  shrieked  with 
laughter  as  they  ducked  to  avoid  the 
backward  rebounding  drumsticks;  and  to 
the  inspiring  strains  of  the  March  in 
Scipio  the  snake-walk  began. 

I  have  always  carefully  refrained  from 
inquiring  into  the  antecedents  of  the  St. 
Render  snake-walk,  fearing  to  be  told  that 
it  is  a  recent  introduction,  and,  in  fact,  a 
mere  glorification  of  the  childish  game 
of  follow-my-leader.  By  remaining  in 
resolute  ignorance  on  this  point,  I  am  at 
liberty  to  plunge  with  a  free  conscience  in 
search  of  its  origin  among  the  mists  of  the 
conveniently  dim  Druidic  past,  and  to 
discourse  as  learnedly  as  I  please  of  mystic 
tribal  dances  and  the  cult  of  the  Sacred 
Serpent.  When  the  man  with  the  flag 
begins  by  fetching  a  wide  compass,  until 

he  treads  on  the  heels  of  the  last  of  his 
R  241 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

followers,  I  confidently  infer  a  traditional 
representation  of  the  ancient  symbol  of 
eternity — the  snake  swallowing  its  own 
tail.  When,  suddenly  swerving  aside,  he 
heads  the  way  up  the  field  in  a  series  of 
subtle  convolutions,  "  and  of  his  tortuous 
train  Curls  many  a  wanton  wreath,"  it  is 
easy  to  discern  a  curious  figuring  forth  of 
the  progress  of  creation  out  of  that  endless 
ring  into  the  labyrinthine  errors  of  Time. 
And  if  the  chattering  and  laughing  per- 
formers remain  unconscious  of  the  deep 
significance  of  their  proceedings,  and  are 
content  to  enjoy  the  mere  delight  of  step- 
ping in  time  to  a  rhythmic  tune,  and  of 
surrendering  their  volition  for  the  nonce 
to  the  irresponsible  guidance  of  a  red- 
faced  man  with  a  flag,  yet  the  philosophic 
observer  can  still  admire  the  wisdom  of 
their  feet,  and  complacently  reflect  that 

snake-walking,  like  all  forms  of  the  dance, 
242 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"     .     .     .  is  an  exercise, 

Not  only  shows  the  mover's  wit, 

But  maketh  the  beholder  wise, 
As  he  hath  power  to  rise  to  it." 

The  mazy  evolutions  had  endured  for 
a  full  quarter  of  an  hour  ;  one  or  two 
elderly  faint-hearts  had  dropped  out,  and 
several  of  the  younger  folk  had  attained  a 
painfully  exact  knowledge  of  the  spot 
where  the  new  shoe  pinched ;  when  one  of 
the  leading  bandsmen,  snatching  the  cornet 
from  his  lips  in  the  middle  of  a  bar, 
warned  the  fugleman  that  he  and  his 
mates  had  pretty  well  blowed  their  souls 
away,  and  that  further  expenditure  of 
breath  was  not  to  be  looked  for  at  five 
shillings  a  man.  The  fugleman  nodded, 
and  prepared  for  the  final  manoeuvre  by 
shaping  a  straight  course  for  his  starting- 
point  in  the  middle  of  the  field.  Here  he 

began    what   appeared    at   first   to   be  the 
R2  243 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

primary  evolution  over  again  ;  but  before 
the  circle  was  joined,  a  slight  change  of 
direction  converted  it  into  an  inward- 
winding  spiral.  A  shout  from  the  knowing 
ones  gave  warning  to  all  of  the  imminent 
climax.  Tighter  and  tighter  were  drawn 
the  coils,  slower  and  slower  grew  the 
pace,  until,  amid  much  laughter  and  shrieks 
not  a  few,  the  leader  lifted  his  flag  at  arm's 
length  and  stood  calmly  triumphant  in  the 
centre  of  a  huddled  mass  of  breathless 
humanity.  I  am  unable  to  decide  precisely 
what  esoteric  interpretation  to  attach  to 
this  ending,  unless  it  be  a  dark  hint  of 
chaos  as  the  final  goal  of  the  universe,  but 
at  any  rate  I  can  assure  you  that  it  is 
indubitably  the  great  fun  of  all. 

Some  moments  earlier,  Dorinda  had 
inadvertently  slipped  her  hand  from  Mr. 
Roscorla's  arm,  and  the  difference  in  their 

specific  gravities  had  quickly  drifted  them 
244 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

asunder.  The  band  had  still  some  bars  to 
play,  and  Dorinda  found  herself  tightly 
wedged  against  a  wall  of  resounding  brass, 
with  a  bombardon  bellowing  furiously  in 
her  ear,  while  a  trombone  with  no  room 
for  horizontal  extension  was  making  sharp 
lunges  in  the  direction  of  her  toes.  And 
close  at  hand,  almost  near  enough  to 
touch,  was  Hubert,  with  Laura  still  firmly 
attached.  Their  eyes  met  in  a  grave  look. 
The  music  ceased,  with  the  effect  of  a 
cosmic  catastrophe.  After  a  solid  fifteen 
minutes  of  the  March  in  Scipio,  you  are 
inclined  to  believe  that  it  was  composed 
for  the  use  of  the  morning  stars  at  the 
beginning  of  all  things,  and  had  been 
going  on  ever  since.  When  Dorinda's  ears 
recovered  their  faculties,  they  became 
aware  of  the  player  of  the  bombardon 
offering  apologies  for  hooting  and  bleating 
in  her  face  to  such  an  unmannerly  extent. 
245 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Duty  had  to  be  done,  and  occasions  like 
this  called  for  coarse  playing  ;  but  when 
he  had  the  chance  he  could  put  it  in  as 
tender  and  sweet  as  boiled  turnips.  Wasn't 
that  so,  Arthur  ? 

Arthur,  pushing  home  the  slide  of  his 
trombone,  confirmed  the  bombardon's 
statement,  and  remarked  further  that  join- 
ing a  band  put  an  excessive  strain  on  a 
teetotaler's  convictions,  but  he  supposed 
it  would  have  to  be  ginger  ale  as  usual. 
And  if  the  young  lady  would  like  to  share 
something  of  the  sort  with  two  respectable 
young  men  from  the  china-clay  district, 
who  had  finished  up  their  job  for  the  day, 
and  had  a  solid  hour  to  wait  for  the  brake 
to  start,  and  didn't  possess  a  single  female 
acquaintance  in  this  benighted  spot,  why 
then 

The  bombardon  reproved  his  too  san- 
guine colleague.  Did  Arthur  expect  such 
246 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

dazzling  luck  at  this  time  of  day  ?  Couldn't 
he  see  that  the  young  lady  was  looking 
out  for  a  friend,  whose  shoes  any  man 
might  account  himself  fortunate  to  wear  ? 
And  where  was  his  discrimination  ?  The 
young  lady  was  obviously  not  the  sort  to 
pick  up  with  chance  strangers,  however 
respectable.  Dorinda  was  entreated  to 
believe  that  Arthur  was  constitutionally 
the  most  retiring  of  men  ;  but  the  effect 
of  gold  braid  on  a  man's  character  was 
notorious. 

Arthur  agreed.  The  wearing  of  a 
uniform  would  give  confidence  to  a  rabbit. 
And  did  Dorinda  happen  to  know  the 
name  of  that  smart  young  woman  over 
yonder  with  the  tall  young  fellow  in  tow  ? 
A  tidy  piece,  sure  enough  ;  and  of  a 
coming-on  disposition,  if  his  knowledge 
of  the  sex  went  for  anything.  He  didn't 

want  to  spoil  sport,  but  judging  by  the 
247 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


looks  she  was  casting  in  his  direction,  it 
would  be  an  easy  job  to  get  her  to  cut  the 
tow-line. 

Laura  and  Hubert,  after  moving  a  few 
yards  away  with  the  dispersing  crowd,  had 
come  to  a  standstill,  obviously  on  Laura's 
initiative  ;  and  it  was  she  who  was  now 
making  play  with  those  bold  eyes  of  hers 
for  the  benefit  of  the  susceptible  trombone, 
who  began  forthwith  to  chirrup  and  mur- 
mur seductive  endearments  under  his 
breath.  Dorinda  could  not  help  tittering 
at  his  ridiculous  behaviour,  and  apparently 
the  titter  decided  Laura,  who  came  straight 
towards  them,  leaving  Hubert  to  follow  as 
he  pleased.  The  bombardon  opined  that 
the  gold  braid  had  done  the  trick  once 
more,  and  warned  Arthur  that  it  was  his 
firm  intention  to  stand  by  him  to  the 
end. 

Laura  accosted  Dorinda,  sweetly  won- 
248 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

dering  how  she  had  contrived  to  get  that 
nasty  stain  on  her  new  frock,  and  hoping 
she  was  having  a  proper  good  time.  For 
her  own  part,  she  was  as  dull  as  a  dead 
duck  in  a  mud-pool.  A  resentful  glance 
drove  the  remark  home  into  Hubert's 
bosom. 

The  trombone  gallantly  interposed.  It 
was  shameful  that  a  shadow  of  depression 
should  rest  on  one  so  fair.  He  ventured 
to  suggest  a  remedy.  Five  was  generally 
considered  an  awkward  number  to  deal 
with  on  occasions  like  this,  but  it  was 
precisely  on  occasions  like  this  that  he  and 
his  friend  the  bombardon  counted  as  one, 
and  after  all  the  young  lady  had  two  arms 
to  dispose  of.  He  awaited  her  opinion  on 
the  subject. 

Laura's  opinion,  mitigated  in  its  sever- 
ity by  a  brilliant  smile,  was  to  the  effect 

that  the  impudence  of    some  people  was 
249 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

unparalleled  in  her  experience  ;  and  what 
did  the  trombone  take  her  for  ? 

The  trombone,  it  appeared,  took  her  for 
one  whose  sense  was  on  a  level  with  her 
charm,  and  who  would  therefore  realize  at 
once  that,  with  the  brake  starting  for 
home  at  nine-thirty  sharp,  two  respectable 
young  men  from  the  china-clay  district 
had  no  time  to  waste  in  dilly-dallying. 
"  Fall  in  "  was  therefore  the  word. 

Laura  made  the  witty,  if  obvious,  retort 
that  she  would  fall  out  with  somebody 
pretty  and  quick  if  he  didn't  behave  ;  and 
then,  without  more  ado  preparing  to 
depart  with  a  uniform  on  either  side,  she 
leaned  back  to  address  Dorinda  with  a 
sugared  smile. 

"  You  'm  welcome  to  my  leavings  once 
more,"  she  whispered. 

The  three  made  off  in  close  marching 

order,  leaving  a  self-conscious  and  irresolute 

250 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

couple  to  dawdle  in  their  wake.    Less  than 
three  hours  had  elapsed  since   their  dra- 
matic severance  at  the  festal  board  ;  but  for 
Dorinda,  at  any  rate,  that  brief  period  had 
been  so  thronged  with  ripening  incident 
and  experience   that  she  looked  back  to 
her    innocent  flirtation  over   the   teacups 
as  to  a  remote  happening  of  her  vanished 
childhood.     Yet  how  grown-up  she  had 
felt  at  the  time  !    And  she  could  not  help 
wondering    whether    Hubert    had    heard 
Laura's  last  words,  and  if  he  had,  what 
he  would  make  of  them.    Perhaps  he  knew 
something  already  ;  evidently  Laura  did — 
the  spiteful  cat  !   It  was  useless  to  pretend 
she  didn't  care  ;    she  did  care  very  much, 
but  not  in  any  silly  courting  sort  of  way. 
She  only  wanted  to  be  on  pleasant,  friendly 
terms  with  all  the  world,  excepting  Laura, 
of  course,  but  certainly  including  the  big 

boy  who  lived  next  door  at  Sunny  Corner. 
25! 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


All  the  same  she  wasn't  going  to  make 
the  first  advance. 

As  for  Hubert,  he  had  Laura  on  his 
conscience,  though  the  burden  was  not 
very  heavy.  When  a  young  man  is  moon- 
ing idly  about,  nursing  a  sore  place  or 
two,  and  a  lively  and  well-looking  young 
woman  accosts  him  with  a  direct  chal- 
lenge, he  is  to  be  commended  rather  than 
blamed  for  rising  to  the  occasion  ;  all  the 
more  so  if  he  doesn't  care  twopence  for  the 
said  young  woman.  Still,  the  rules  of  the 
game  permitted  and  even  enjoined  Dorinda 
to  take  offence  at  his  defection.  Anyhow, 
he  wasn't  going  to  make  the  first  advance. 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  each  a  little 
afraid  of  the  other.  As  for  the  eternal 
separation  which  had  lately  been  decreed 
against  them,  I  don't  believe  it  entered  the 
minds  of  either,  except  to  be  dismissed  as 

a  negligible  and  impertinent  folly. 
252 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

They  had  gone  half-way  to  the  entrance 
of  the  meadow,  when  they  both  decided 
simultaneously  that  this  was  too  foolish  to 
be  permitted  to  continue.  Two  furtive 
glances  were  caught  together,  two  nervous 
smiles  encouraged  each  other  into  confi- 
dence, two  innocent  hands  came  into 
contact  and  interlocked,  and  the  world 
was  reconstituted  in  the  same  shape  as 
when  it  had  been  shattered  by  an  angry 
old  man. 

I  have  read  somewhere  that  the  custom 
of  man  and  maid  going  arm-acrook  is 
quite  a  modern  innovation,  and  I  have 
since  searched  in  vain  for  any  mention  of 
it  in  the  old  writers.  To  take  but  one 
instance,  and  that  the  earliest  of  all,  it  was 
hand  in  hand,  as  Milton  testifies,  that 
Adam  and  Eve  went  to  their  bower  ;  and 
hand  in  hand  again  they  took  their  solitary 
way  out  of  Paradise.  And  even  if  Milton's 
253 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

authority  on  antediluvian  etiquette  be 
questioned,  his  statement  is  a  sufficient 
indication,  I  think,  that  he,  the  seven- 
teenth-century citizen  of  London,  never 
in  his  life  walked  arm  in  arm  with  Mary 
Powell.  On  the  comparative  merits  of 
the  two  methods  much  might  be  said. 
Both  are  good  ;  though  for  snugness  no 
doubt  the  linked  elbows  carry  the  day. 
But  the  other  is  certainly  the  more  deli- 
cate, flexible  and  sensitive  form  of  attach- 
ment. Children,  to  whom  we  must  go  to 
learn  the  unperverted  language  of  the  affec- 
tions, recognize  no  intermediate  between 
hand  in  hand  and  arm  about  neck  ;  and  a 
fairly  close  observation  of  the  ways  of 
married  folk  has  taught  me  that  hus- 
band and  wife  may  go  arm  in  arm  for  fifty 
reasons,  of  which  not  the  least  is  mere 
habit,  but  that  when  you  see  husband 

and  wife  walking  hand  in  hand,  you  may 
254 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

safely  ignore  other  evidence — wrinkles, 
grey  hairs  and  all — and  conclude  that  they 
are  sweethearts  still. 

Hand  in  hand  went  Dorinda  and 
Hubert  on  their  way,  swinging  their  arms 
a  little  to  emphasize  the  fraternal  nature 
of  the  bond  between  them.  Whether 
there  was  any  ultra-fraternal  variation  in 
the  pressure  of  their  ringers,  is  nobody's 
affair  ;  nor  were  the  few  words  that 
passed  between  them  of  sufficient  impor- 
tance, even  to  themselves,  for  the  chroni- 
cler to  notice.  As  they  wandered  along, 
quietly  and  soberly  enjoying  each  other's 
company,  their  ears  were  suddenly  assailed 
with  the  vast  uproar  of  a  mechanical 
organ,  to  which  the  utmost  efforts  of  the 
Harmonious  Rechabites  were  but  a  sooth- 
ing lullaby.  Sucked  in  by  the  over- 
whelming sound,  like  straws  on  the  brink 
of  Niagara,  they  drifted  round  a  corner 
255 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 


into  a  by-street.  Here,  on  a  piece  of 
roadside  waste,  stood  the  merry-go-round, 
or,  as  it  particularized  itself  in  great  gilt 
letters:  "  Baragwanath's  Galloping  Horses, 
the  Pride  of  the  Duchy,"  affronting  the 
dying  day  with  an  insolent  flare  of  naphtha 
lamps,  and  pouring  forth  from  its  glitter- 
ing axis  a  florid  and  voluble  version  of 
the  most  blatant  of  rag-time  melodies. 
The  cavalcade  was  at  that  moment  in  full 
career,  and  by  some  marvel  of  mechanics 
each  one  of  every  well-matched  pair  of 
steeds  soared  and  sank  alternately  with  its 
companion.  If  the  Vicar  had  been  stand- 
ing by,  he  would  certainly  have  quoted 
from  the  Mantuan— 

"  Jaraque  humiles  jamque  elati  sublime  videntur 
Aera  per  vacuam  ferri  atque  adsurgere  in  auras.'' 

It   was  pretty    to   watch   the  riders   as 
they  flashed  past,  the  maidens  sitting  side- 
long in  attitudes  of  studied  elegance,  the 
256 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

youths  easily  astraddle,  not  unconscious  of 
witching  the  world  with  wooden  horse- 
manship. Most  were  allowing  their  looks 
to  wander  among  the  earth-fettered  by- 
standers, with  that  indifferent  superiority 
which  we  have  all  felt  when  our  express 
train  glides  past  the  crowded  suburban 
platform.  But  there  were  couples  who 
had  no  eyes  save  for  each  other,  and  it 
was  the  oddest  sight  to  see  their  intent 
faces  go  up  and  down  as  youth  and 
maiden  rose  and  fell  in  turn.  It  was 
fascinating,  too,  to  observe  the  death- 
tempting  progress  of  the  dark  gipsy  youth 
who  swung  about  the  dizzy  circle,  collect- 
ing twopences,  as  a  monkey  might  collect 
nuts  in  a  windy  tree-top. 

The  whirling  circle  slowed  and  stopped; 
the  music  ceased  a  moment  later,  and  you 
heard,  high  up  in  a  neighbouring  tree,  the 

sweet  wistful  note  of  a  redbreast,  who  had 

s  257 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

all  the  while  been  straining  his  throat 
over  his  evening  hymn  in  valiant  emula- 
tion of  the  steam  monster  below.  You 
guessed  his  triumph  at  having  sung  his 
rival  down  at  last.  But  the  monster  only 
awaited  the  turning  of  a  crank,  and  that 
thin  trickle  of  pure  sound  was  swallowed 
up  in  a  renewed  tempest  of  polyphony. 
This  time  it  was  an  indelicately  languorous 
waltz  of  the  approved  modern  pattern. 
In  your  mind's  eye  you  saw  a  ball-room  in 
Brobdingnag,  where  Cormoran  and  Blun- 
derbore,  broad-acred  with  shirt-fronts, 
leered  on  buxom  giantesses  with  Alpine 
shoulders,  and  thundered  sweet  nothings 
in  their  ears  as  they  steered  them  over  the 
quaking  floor. 

Dorinda  and  Hubert  had  already  chosen 
and  mounted  their  steeds — a  piebald  and  a 
roan.  A  dolorous  and  thrilling  whistle 

sounded  ;     the    ground    slid    away    from 
258 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

beneath  them,  slowly  and  then  faster. 
Within  a  single  revolution  they  found 
themselves  alone  together  in  a  still,  fairy 
region,  outside  and  above  the  wildly 
spinning  earth  and  the  men  and  trees  that 
span  with  it  in  a  senseless  blur.  Their 
magic  steeds  rocked  gently  beneath  them, 
motionless  else  ;  a  great  rushing  wind  was 
in  their  faces — surely  the  same  that  blew 
out  of  Eden  after  the  Fall,  scattering  the 
seeds  of  life  over  the  waiting  world  ;  all 
about  them  surged  in  a  mighty  tide  the 
music  of  the  spheres,  which  is  so  loud  and 
omnipresent  that  it  cannot  be  heard  at  all 
by  earth-borne  folk. 

After  a  while,  Dorinda  made  the  ex- 
periment of  shutting  her  eyes,  the  better 
to  taste  the  rapture  of  the  moment 
Feeling  giddy  at  once,  she  opened  them 
again  on  the  youth  beside  her ;  and 

behold,  it  was  the  same  wonderful  youth 
s  2  259 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

she  had  seen  in  the  ringing-chamber.  He 
stooped  towards  her,  whispering  some- 
thing that  was  manifestly  of  supreme 
importance,  could  she  but  hear  it  across 
the  chiming  of  the  spheres.  Her  brows 
signalled  for  a  repetition.  He  reddened, 
hesitated,  and  ventured  once  more — 

"  Dear  girl  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Dorinda,  and  frowned,  and 
instantly  repented  of  her  frown  as  belong- 
ing to  the  idiot  conventions  of  the  distant 
earth,  and  stooped  forward  in  her  turn, 
and  sweetly  breathed  the  parallel  stave  of 
the  antiphony — 

"  Dear  boy  !  " 

Then  a  dirty  hand  was  thrust  before 
them,  and  a  rude  Egyptian  ape  sarcastic- 
ally urged  his  pretty  love-birds  to  hurry 
up  with  their  twopences. 


260 


X 

AT  half-past  eight  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Varco 
paused  outside  the  door  of  the  inn.  He 
had  some  business  to  transact  inside, 
which,  after  the  way  of  inn-business,  might 
take  him  five  minutes  and  might  take  him 
half  an  hour,  and  she  was  reckoning  to  go 
up  to  Mrs.  Pedrick's  again,  to  glean  any 
whips  and  straws  of  news  that  might  have 
been  wafted  through  that  hospitable  door 
during  the  past  hour  or  two.  Mr.  Varco 
let  his  wit  play  briefly  round  a  satirical 
picture  of  the  main  street  of  St.  Render, 
with  its  serried  array  of  scandal-traps 
gaping  wide  all  day,  year  in,  year  out  ; 
and  they  were  just  parting,  when  the  inn- 
door  was  flung  open,  and  Albert  Hosken 

projected     himself     therefrom    in    some 
261 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

disorder.  Catching  sight  of  Mrs.  Varco, 
he  brought  himself  up  with  a  jerk,  and 
splashed  over  in  speech. 

"  No  good,  ma'am — no  good  at  all. 
Nothing  but  a  flash  in  the  pan.  I've 
tried  peppermint  and  port-wine  nagus  ; 
I've  tried  trolling  a  randy  stave  ;  and  not 
so  much  as  a  glimp'  of  Old  Harry's  tail 
have  I  catched  again.  Don't  think  me 
worth  his  trouble,  s'pose,  the  proud  old 
rip  !  To  be  slighted  by  the  devil — 'tis 
the  last  straw  in  the  camel's  eye.  I'll  go 
home  to  bed." 

Abruptly  he  flung  away,  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Varco  were  unexpectedly  free  to 
depart  on  their  errands.  We  follow  the 
former,  who,  entering  the  inn,  paused 
listening  for  a  moment  at  the  door  of  the 
farmers'  parlour,  nodded  to  himself,  and 
passed  on  into  the  tap  room,  where  his 

appearance    was   hailed  with   a   shout  of 
262 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

welcome.  Dickon's  visits  to  the  inn  were  of 
the  rarest,  and  were  treasured  accordingly. 
Sitting  down,  he  beckoned  to  Sally  the 
brisk  handmaid,  and  gave  his  modest  order. 

"  Mr.  Barron  in  yonder  ?  "  he  asked, 
indicating  the  parlour. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Varco.  Been  here  this  hour 
and  more." 

"  What's  he  taking  ?  " 

"  Sixpenny  mostly,  Mr.  Varco.  Rum 
now  and  agin." 

"  H'm  !  "  Dickon  reflected.  "  Talk- 
ing much  ?  ': 

"  Not  till  just  now.  He  come  in  in  a 
fine  poor  temper — nothing  to  say  to  no- 
body. But  now  he's  laying  down  the  law 
pretty  and  loud." 

"  Hat  over  his  eyes  ?  " 

Sally  nodded  shrewdly. 

"  Leave  me  know  when  it  get  back  of 

his  head,  will  'e  ?  " 

263 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

Sally  made  a  mental  calculation.  In 
the  sober  world  outside  she  passed  for 
something  of  a  simpleton,  but  of  her  own 
moist  sphere  she  had  a  specialist's  know- 
ledge, and  could  gauge  the  symptoms  of 
the  mounting  of  good  liquor  as  easily  as 
you  or  I  can  read  a  barometer. 

"  That  '11  be  when  he's  finished  up  his 
next  glass,"  she  said.  "  He's  slow  to 
start,  but  quick  to  get  on.  'Bout  nine 
o'clock,  I  reckon." 

"  Nine  o'clock  '11  be  just  right  for  me,  " 
said  Dickon  ;  and  putting  Nick  Barron 
out  of  his  head  for  the  time,  he  turned  to 
the  expectant  company  and  launched  his 
first  side-splitting  jest. 

At  three  minutes  to  nine,  Sally  touched 
his  shoulder  and  pantomimed  the  awaited 
news. 

"  Right,"  quoth    Dickon,   getting    up. 

The  revellers  who  sought  to  detain  him 

264 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

were  left  to  make  what  they  could  of 
the  information  that  he  was  going  to 
pick  a  ripe  apple,  front  of  the  house. 
Passing  forward,  he  opened  the  parlour 
door. 

Temperance  advocates  have  so  many 
powerful  arguments  at  their  command, 
that  they  can  surely  afford  to  present  a 
case  like  Mr.  Barren's  to  their  opponents. 
For  six  days  in  the  week,  and  for  all  but 
a  brief  portion  of  the  seventh,  he  was  as 
you  have  seen  him,  a  man  of  sterling 
worth  and  undoubted  integrity,  but  some- 
what crabbed  and  crotchety,  dangerously 
apt  to  take  offence,  and  invincibly  sus- 
picious of  hidden  roguery  everywhere — 
in  short,  a  terrible  hard  man  to  get  on 
with.  But  from  nine  o'clock  onwards  on 
Saturdays  and  on  such  festal  nights  as 
this,  he  blossomed  under  the  ministrations 

of  Sally  into  the  most  robustly  genial  of 
265 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

mortals,  good-humoured  even  to  boister- 
ousness,  and  unsuspecting  and  tractable  as 
a  child.  In  this  condition,  who  would 
venture  to  call  him  anything  but  the 
better  for  drink  ?  Who  might  not  indulge 
the  generous  thought  that  this  perhaps 
was  the  real  Nick  Barren,  and  the  other 
but  an  inessential  husk,  woven  about  him 
by  sour-faced  circumstance,  and  only  to 
be  dissolved  in  malt  liquor  ? 

Dickon's  purpose  was  achieved  as  soon 
as  he  was  seen.  Out  of  his  seat  against 
the  opposite  wall,  from  which  his  hat 
was  fending  his  nape,  Nicky  sprung  for- 
ward with  a  welcoming  roar. 

"  Aha,  Dickon  Varco !  Dickon  the 
quipster,  come  to  make  it  up  with  his  old 
chum  over  a  friendly  glass  !  Shake  hands, 
then,  and  name  your  tipple." 

The  hand-shake  was  cordially  exchanged, 

but    Dickon    excused    himself   from    the 
266 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

tipple,  reckoning  he  had  had  enough  to 
float  him  home." 

"  Hear  that  !  "  shouted  his  friend  to  the 
company.  "  That's  good.  '  Enough  to 
float  me  home ' — capital,  sure  enough  ! 
Three  cheers  for  Dickon  Varco,  the  cele- 
brated joker  !  Pitch  us  another  joke  now, 
Dickon." 

Dickon  did  not  flatter  himself  that  the 
laugh  which  went  round  was  a  tribute  to 
his  wit.  There  are  two  sore  trials  with 
which  an  accepted  humorist  is  liable  at 
any  time  to  be  confronted.  The  one  is 
when — to  take  the  stock  instance — his 
request  for  the  mustard  sets  the  table 
rocking,  the  other  when  an  exhibition  of 
his  powers  is  importunately  demanded. 
The  one  and  the  other  befalling  Dickon 
in  quick  succession  left  him  unperturbed. 
His  one  business  now  was  to  lure  his 

friend  from  his  liquor  while  yet  the  jovial 
267 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

mood  was  on  him,  and  this  he  did  with  a 
neat  turn  of  the  wrist. 

"  The  best  joke  of  all's  outside,"  he  said, 
mysteriously  beckoning.  At  once  Mr. 
Barren  laid  his  ringer  as  mysteriously  to 
his  nose,  and  followed  Dickon  out  of  the 
parlour  like  a  lamb. 

Outside  in  the  gathering  twilight  he 
peered  about,  swaying  a  little,  and  urgently 
demanding  the  instant  production  of  the 
joke.  Whether  Dickon's  powers  of  jocular 
inspiration  would  have  proved  equal  to 
the  emergency  I  cannot  say  ;  for  at  that 
moment  fortune  played  into  his  hand. 
A  young  couple,  affectionately  interlaced, 
strolled  out  of  the  dusk  and  stood  gazing 
into  the  lighted  window  of  the  shop 
hard  by. 

"Look,"  whispered  Dickon.  "There 
'tis." 

Nicky  stared.     "  How  ?     My  boy  and 
268 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

your  maid,  edn'  'a  ?  Where  the  joke  in 
that  ?  " 

"  Your  boy  and  my  maid,  and  the 
joke's  with  you.  Haven't  forgot,  have 
'e  ?  What  business  they  got  with  one 
another's  waistes  this  side  Jedgment 
Day  ?  Now  then,  starn  parent,  for'ard 
with  'e,  and  frighten  them  out  of  their 
lives." 

Nicky  subdued  a  chuckle.  "  Dickon 
the  quipster  !  Joke's  with  me,  sure 
enough.  None  of  your  sly  winking 
behind  my  back,  then." 

He  cautiously  advanced  to  the  rear  of 
the  unsuspecting  pair. 

"  Oho  there  !  "  he  rumbled  threaten- 
ingly. They  sprang  apart  and  turned.  He 
eyed  them  grimly  up  and  down.  "  And 
what  are  you  two  doing  together,  I'd  like 
to  know  ? " 

There    was    an    interval    of    downcast 
269 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

silence.  Then  the  maiden  lifted  roguish 
eyes  on  Nicky  and  Dickon,  and  said  with 
soft  impudence— 

"  Well,  if  it  come  to  that,  what  are 
you  two  doing  together,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  " 

Shaking  with  laughter,  Nick  Barren 
slapped  his  old  chum's  shoulder. 

"  Hear  that,  Dickon  ?  The  joke's  with 
the  maid  after  all.  Catched  us  out  fair  ! 
Rolled  us  over,  so  clean  as  a  smelt  !  Best 
joke  of  all,  sure  enough  !  " 

"  Chip  of  the  old  block,"  said  the  other 
senior  with  quiet  pride.  "  And  here  come 
the  Roscorlas.  Time  to  be  getting  on 
backwards.  You  coming  too  ?  " 

Mr.  Barren  was  certainly  coming  too. 
It  was  Sunny  Corner  against  all  the  inn- 
parlours  in  the  world  for  wit  and  good 
company.  From  Sunny  Corner  had 
proceeded  the  best  joke  of  all,  which 

it    would    take    till    bedtime     to     savour 

270 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

properly.      Let    Lazarus    Roscorla    judge 
for   himself. 

A  cloudy  recapitulation  of  all  the  events 
necessary  to  the  comprehension  of  the 
joke  of  jokes  occupied  Mr.  Roscorla's  pas- 
sive ear  all  the  way  to  Mrs.  Pedrick's 
door.  Here  the  good-humoured  and 
rather  noisy  company  filled  the  kitchen 
and  partook  of  just  a  morsel  of  cake  all 
round,  to  stay  their  stomachs  against 
supper.  Once  more  Mrs.  Pedrick  in- 
quired of  the  fitty  maid  whether  she  had 
found  a  chap  yet,  and  once  more  Dorinda 
replied  that  maybe  she  had  and  maybe 
she  hadn't.  Hubert  looked  rather  solemn 
and  sheepish  at  the  sally,  which  only 
heightened  the  excellence  of  its  reception 
by  the  rest.  Then  farewells  were  said, 
Mrs.  Varco  was  uprooted  from  her  chair, 
and  the  homeward  journey  was  begun  in 
good  earnest. 

The  sky  behind  them  was  still  bright 

271 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

with  rose-red  and  apple-green  ;  a  belated 
cuckoo  was  calling  ;  the  rising  incense  of 
the  hedges  mingled  agreeably  with  the 
more  pungent  fumes  of  Mr.  Varco's  pipe. 
At  the  crest  of  the  hill  that  shelters  Sunny 
Corner  they  had  a  glimpse  of  a  calm 
marmoreal  sea,  all  milky  white,  with  a 
wonderful  great  orange,  disc  just  mount- 
ing above  it.  Everybody  agreed  that  the 
moon  was  looking  handsome  to-night, 
and  Dorinda  and  Hubert  lingered  to  pay 
her  majesty  a  less  perfunctory  tribute. 
When  they  followed  down  the  hill,  the 
others  were  a  turn  of  the  road  ahead,  and 
Mr.  Barron's  laughter  was  mellow  in  the 
distance.  They  crossed  the  stream,  and 
passed  the  forge,  and  entered  the  gate. 
Under  the  benignant  shelter  of  Lord 
Derby  they  came  to  a  stand,  listening  to  a 
colloquy  that  was  going  on  before  the 

doors  of  Sunny  Corner. 
272 


DORINDA'S   BIRTHDAY 

"  Well,  missus,  how  feeling  now  ?  " 
That  was  Mr.  Barren,  to  be  pictured 
wide-balanced  on  careful  legs,  as  with 
upturned  face  he  addressed  his  wife  in  her 
lonely  eyrie. 

"  Better,  Nicholas,"  came  the  answer. 
"  But  what's  my  better  put  en  agin 
other  people's  worse  ?  Are  'e  sober, 
Nicholas  ?  " 

"  Not  by  a  long  chalk,  my  dear,"  was 
the  jovial  reply. 

"  Then  you'll  sleep  on  the  sofa,  if  you 
plaise.  Where's  Hubert  ?  " 

"  Hubert's  coming  on  behind.  With 
Dorinda." 

"  With  Dorinda  ?  Ah— h'm  !  "  Mrs. 
Barren  appeared  to  be  digesting  the 
information.  "  Well,  he  might  do  worse, 
I  will  say  that  for  her." 

Mrs.   Varco's    voice    was    raised,    with 

some  emphasis  and  a  shade  of  acrimony  : 
T  273 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

"  And  she  might  do  worse,  I  will  say  that 
for  him" 

Mr.  Varco  chimed  in:  "Trust  the 
women  for  settling  these  kind  of  jobs 
off-hand.  Shall  we  call  'em  in  and  give 
'em  ourj'int  blessings  ?" 

"  Hush,  Dickon  !  They'll  hear  'e. 
They'm  just  behind." 

Confused  murmurs  followed.  Then 
Miss  Roscorla  was  heard,  clear  and  sharp. 

"  Now  then,  Lazarus  !  If  'tis  worth 
the  saying,  say  it,  and  don't  keep  us 
waiting." 

"  Husband-high,  neighbours  !  "  Thus 
Mr.  Roscorla  in  husky  triumph.  "  Didn' 
I  say  so  ?  And  when  a  maid's  husband- 

high — - 

Mr.  Varco's  voice  interrupted  him, 
sober  and  serious,  purged  of  all  raillery  : 
"  Well,  well,  uncle,  time  enough  yet  for 

what  time  will   show.     But  if  'a  should 
274 


DORINDA'S    BIRTHDAY 

be  so  some  day,  Sunny  Corner  couldn' 
wish  to  hear  better  news.  And  there's 
my  two  grandfers  making  up  their 
totalish  old  minds  for  half-past  nine. 
Worky-day  again  to-morrow,  my  friends. 
Good-night  all." 

Good-nights  were  chorused,  and  closing 
doors  set  silence  free  among  the  apple- 
trees.  Dorinda  and  Hubert  looked  at  each 
other  with  enormous  solemnity. 


THE    END 


Richard  Clay  &>  Sons,  Ltd.,  London  and  Bungay. 


A     000128430     6 


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